Spring, teasing cumbrous Winter from her place,
First charms me with her ever changing face,
Now with a tear, yet oftener with a smile
She doth beguile
My dancing feet
Into some pleasant, blossom-bowered retreat. And yet, when lazy, lavish Summer lies
And smiles upon me through her half-closed eyes,
Smiles welcome to her wide, reclining fields,
Then to my heart yields
To her sly wooing,
And drowsy minstrels shrill my sweet undoing. Until, one day, I catch the sudden flare
Of glorious Autumn's wind-blown, flaming hair.
Her swift step stirs the rustling leaves, and then
I meet again
The wishful glow
Of steady, azure eyes; and straightway go
Into glad arms, outstretched, yet wearied not
With long desire, and only half forgot. Then Spring and Summer child and wanton are,
And Autumn my true love returned from afar.