The thresholds of the four winds are.
May is building her house. From the dust of things
She is making the songs and the flowers and the wings;
From October’s tossed and trodden gold
She is making the young year out of the old;
Yea! out of winter’s flying sleet
She is making all the summer sweet,
And the brown leaves spurned of November’s feet
She is changing back again to spring’s.
Harper’s Richard Le Gallienne