The Four Seasons

                Spring

Oh, springtime days in city ways are fraught with pleasures rare,

And early bloom sheds rich perfume in public plot and square;

And lawns are drest up in their best while making fountains play,

And eyes are bright and hearts are light since winter’s passed away.

And spring as well has reached the dell where swollen streams go by,

And birds awing most blithely sing, and mount the arid sky;

And woodlands deep refreshed by sleep arouse at nature’s call –

Oh, springtime days in country ways I like the best of all.

                               Summer

The summer shows in lighted rows, their ferns like driving bees,

The cooling drinks and icy clinks, the artificial breeze;

The shaded seats in cool retreats, the music all may share,

Oh, summer days in city ways are fraught with pleasures rare.

But far away where shores are gray, where rolls the flowing tide,

Where canvas wings, like ghostly things on mystic waters glide;

Or where the moods’ deep solitudes invite a soul to rest,

Oh, summer days in country ways are far the happiest.

                               Autumn

Now autumn’s smile comes to beguile sojourners back to town,

And city life with joy is rife exhaling book and gown.

The waking heart, the throb of art, the lure of pathways new –

Oh, autumn days in city ways are full of promise true.

But far away where Pan holds sway and woodland nymphs abide,

Jack Frost, brigand, with master hand has washed the countryside.

With red and gold the wood and wold is painted fair to see –

Oh, autumn days in country ways are best of all for me!

                               Winter

Ah, winter falls on towering walls of granite, brick and tile,

And city street is now replete with comforts to beguile;

The warmth and glow, the tempting show, the thrill of life and light,

Oh, winter day in city ways are more than passing bright.

But oh, the thrill of jeweled hill where lies the sparkling snow!

White fairyland no human hand could duplicate, we know.

The wholesome air, the country fare, the back-log’s warming zest –

Oh, winter days in country ways have health, and peace, and rest.

Feb. 9, 1913

wold - a piece of high, open, uncultivated land or moor.