Are safe and happy; summer lapses by,
In its own music;
And pregnant Autumn, with a matron blush,
Comes stately in, and with her, hand in hand,
Labor, and busy Plenty. Then old Winter,
With his stout glee, his junkets, and a laugh
That shakes from his hoar beard the icicles,
Makes the year gay again. There are no poor
Where freedom is.
The whole of the following is in the same fine strain.