THE SEASONS

“Mother, I know Spring bears her gifts Of young buds scarce unfurled, For through bare apple-boughs I see The blue hills of the world; And the pale daffodils are set Sharp, in the April light——” “The gift that Spring has brought to me Is fight, my son, fight.” “And, Mother, on the heels of Spring The seasons follow hard, When Summer glorifies the field And Autumn stacks the yard; Time was, I watched their gifts unroll, And scarce could choose the best——” “The gift that I would have of them Is rest, my son, rest.” “But, Mother, might they grant your boon And were the conflict done, O Mother, have you strength to stand——?” “I would lie down, my son.” “Where would you look to ease your eyes When strife with tears had ceas’t? And whither would your feet be turned——?” “East, my son, east.”