Seasons (Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter)

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,

In the bleak mid-winter

Ô saisons, ô châteaux!

’Tis the last rose of summer

Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

In drear nighted December

Summer afternoon—summer afternoon … the two most beautiful words in the English language.

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,

This is the weather the cuckoo likes,

The flowers that bloom in the spring,

Snowy, Flowy, Blowy,

April is the cruellest month, breeding

So, while the light fails

No spring, nor summer beauty hath such grace,

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,

The year’s at the spring

Oh, to be in England

The glacier knocks in the cupboard,

Monotony is the law of nature. Look at the monotonous manner in which the sun rises. The monotony of necessary occupation is exhilarating and life-giving.

The seasons are no longer what they once were, But it is the nature of things to be seen only once, As they happen along, bumping into other things, getting along Somehow. That’s where Orpheus made his mistake.