THE SEASONS
“Mother, I know Spring bears her gifts
Of young buds scarce unfurled,
For through bare apple-boughs I see
The blue hills of the world;
And the pale daffodils are set
Sharp, in the April light——”
“The gift that Spring has brought to me
Is fight, my son, fight.”
“And, Mother, on the heels of Spring
The seasons follow hard,
When Summer glorifies the field
And Autumn stacks the yard;
Time was, I watched their gifts unroll,
And scarce could choose the best——”
“The gift that I would have of them
Is rest, my son, rest.”
“But, Mother, might they grant your boon
And were the conflict done,
O Mother, have you strength to stand——?”
“I would lie down, my son.”
“Where would you look to ease your eyes
When strife with tears had ceas’t?
And whither would your feet be turned——?”
“East, my son, east.”
Printed by Hazell Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury, England