Short Flights by Meredith Nicholson - HTML preview

TO THE SEASONS.

SEASONS that pass me by in varied mood,

As on the impressionable land you leave a trace,

Molding sometime a delicate flower’s sweet face,

Touching again with green the somber wood,

Or drawing all beneath a snowy hood,—

Am I not worthy as they to have a place

In your remembrance? Am I made too base

To know what weed and thorn have understood?

Fair vernal time, I need your quickening

Even as the sleeping Earth! O summer heat

Make flower and fruit in me that I may bring

Full hands to Autumn when above me beat

The serious winds; and Winter, make me strong

Like the glad music of your battle song!