Poems (Baldwyn)/Ode to the Seasons

by Augusta Baldwyn

ODE TO THE SEASONS.

The fresh spring-woods are green,
And leaves are softly sighing;
And near and far are seen
Views of hills, with waves between;
Their voices are replying
  To the sweet song
  Now heard among
The lightsome branches flying!

The summer comes so gay,
And brilliant fruits are shining;
The fields are rich in hay,
'Tis nature's holiday,
And flow'rs, their buds entwining,
  Shed odours fair
  Upon the air,
The breeze the sweetest finding!

Now, like a noble queen
O'er her past glory sighing,
The autumn decks the scene,
And changes the soft green
  For glorious hues,
  Which she doth choose
To robe her hour of dying!

Over the mournful plain
The stormy winds are blowing;
Winter abroad doth reign,—
I hear his voice again;
Dark clouds above are snowing.
  But ah, the frost
  In light is lost!
Hope lives though life is going!