Green Summer with her flocks of singing-birds,
Cuckoos, and nightingales, and shrill-voiced lark,
And swallows clamorous in crowded nests;
Wild Autumn with his wind-swept avenues
And fluttering of tawny golden leaves,
His late warm ripeness in the apple-trees,
The vagueness of his mourning, purple mists;
And Winter, finally, with amber lights,
His black boughs bare against the azure sky,
Or on a gentle, rounded slope of woods,