Summer, autumn, winter, spring—
Back and forth the seasons swing;
Sun and snows returning ever,
Like the wild geese on the wing.
When the clean sap climbs the tree,
When the strong winds groan and flee—
Dance the daisies on the hill-tops
To the thin tune of the bee.
When the golden noons hang still,
Crimson flames run down the hill,
And the musk-rats in the bayou
Feel the waters growing chill.
Wood-smoke mists the naked moor;
Dead leaves shroud the forest floor;
When the white frosts cross the threshold,
Summer softly shuts the door.
Like cold love and empty pain,
Fades the sun and drifts the rain.
Tips the world and slips the season,
Swinging wide the doors again.