As Time Glides On: The Months in Picture and Poem

As Time Glides On
Hazell, Watson & Viney, Limd. Lith. London & Aylesbury.
I wear not the purple of earth-born kings, Nor the stately ermine of lordly things; But monarch and courtier though great they be, Must fall from their glory, and bend to me. My sceptre is gemless; yet who can say They will not come under its mighty sway? Ye may learn who I am,—there's the passing chime And the dial to herald me—Old King Time!
Eliza Cook.
The Months in Picture and Poem. arranged by G. Thompson Hutchinson.
Frank Hobden, George H. Edwards, H. F. Hobden, A. Woodruff and Allan Barraud.
LONDON Hodder and Stoughton, 27, Paternoster Row.
The months are met with their crownlets on, As Julius Cæsar crowned them; With slaves the gentleman thirty-one, And the ladies thirty round them.
Old Ballad.
Day follows night; and night The dying day: stars rise, and set, and rise: Earth takes th' example. See, the summer gay, With her green chaplet, and embrosial flowers, Droops into pellid autumn: winter grey, Horrid with frost, and turbulent with storm, Blows autumn and his golden fruits away; Then melts into the spring, soft spring, with breath Favonian, from warm chambers of the south, Recalls the first. All to reflourish, fades: As in a wheel, all sinks, to re-ascend, Emblems of man, who passes, not expires.
Young.
The trees all bare and leafless. The winds so piercing blow: The waters too are frozen, And earth is wrapt in snow.