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Poems About the Seasons

Table of Contents

  1. A Question by Anonymous
  2. In Time's Swing by Lucy Larcom
  3. Frequently the woods are pink by Emily Dickinson
  4. The Circling Year by Ramona Graham
  5. The Year Outgrows the Spring by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

  1. Change Assured

    by Anonymous

    This world it is a pleasant place
    Where none need vainly yearn.
    You get precisely what you want
    If you will wait your turn.

    For if you like not ice and snow
    And winter's prowling storm,
    You need but wait till summer time
    When it will be too warm.

  2. In Time's Swing

    In Time's Swing
    In Time's Swing
    by Herbert N. Rudeen
    by Lucy Larcom

    Father Time, your footsteps go
    Lightly as the falling snow.
    In your swing I'm sitting, see!
    Push me softly; one, two; three,
    Twelve times only. Like a sheet,
    Spread the snow beneath my feet.
    Singing merrily, let me swing
    Out of winter into spring.

    Swing me out, and swing me in!
    Trees are bare, but birds begin
    Twittering to the peeping leaves,
    On the bough beneath the eaves.
    Wait,—one lilac bud I saw.
    Icy hillsides feel the thaw.
    April chased off March to-day;
    Now I catch a glimpse of May.

    Oh, the smell of sprouting grass!
    In a blur the violets pass.
    Whispering from the wildwood come
    Mayflower's breath and insect's hum.
    Roses carpeting the ground;
    Thrushes, orioles, warbling sound:—
    Swing me low, and swing me high,
    To the warm clouds of July.

    Slower now, for at my side
    White pond lilies open wide.
    Underneath the pine's tall spire
    Cardinal blossoms burn like fire.
    They are gone; the golden-rod
    Flashes from the dark green sod.
    Crickets in the grass I hear;
    Asters light the fading year.

    Slower still! October weaves
    Rainbows of the forest leaves.
    Gentians fringed, like eyes of blue,
    Glimmer out of sleety dew.
    Meadow green I sadly miss:
    Winds through withered sedges hiss.
    Oh, 't is snowing, swing me fast,
    While December shivers past!

    Frosty-bearded Father Time,
    Stop your footfall on the rime!
    Hard you push, your hand is rough;
    You have swung me long enough.
    "Nay, no stopping," say you? Well,
    Some of your best stories tell,
    While you swing me—gently, do!—
    From the Old Year to the New.

  3. Frequently the woods are pink

    by Emily Dickinson

    Frequently the woods are pink,
    Frequently are brown;
    Frequently the hills undress
    Behind my native town.

    Oft a head is crested
    I was wont to see,
    And as oft a cranny
    Where it used to be.

    And the earth, they tell me,
    On its axis turned, —
    Wonderful rotation
    By but twelve performed!

  4. The Circling Year

    by Ramona Graham

    SPRING
    The joys of living wreathe my face,
    My heart keeps time to freshet's race;
    Of balmy airs I drink my fill—
    Why, there's a yellow daffodil!
    Along the stream a soft green tinge
    Gives hint of feathery willow fringe;
    Methinks I heard a Robin's "Cheer"—
    I'm glad Spring's here!

    SUMMER
    An afternoon of buzzing flies.
    Heat waves that sear, and quivering rise;
    The long white road, the plodding team,
    The deep, cool grass in which to dream;
    The distant cawing of the crows,
    Tall, waving grain, long orchard rows;
    The peaceful cattle in the stream—
    Midsummer's dream!

    AUTUMN
    A cold, gray day, a lowering sky,
    A lonesome pigeon wheeling by;
    The soft, blue smoke that hangs and fades,
    The shivering crane that flaps and wades;
    Dead leaves that, whispering, quit their tree,
    The peace the river sings to me;
    The chill aloofness of the Fall—
    I love it all!

    WINTER
    A sheet of ice, the ring of steel,
    The crunch of snow beneath the heel;
    Loud, jingling bells, the straw-lined sleigh,
    A restless pair that prance and neigh;
    The early coming of the night,
    Red glowing logs, a shaded light;
    The firelit realm of books is mine—
    Oh, Winter's fine!

  5. The Year Outgrows the Spring

    by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

    The year outgrows the spring it thought so sweet
    And clasps the summer with a new delight,
    Yet wearied, leaves her languors and her heat
    When cool-browed autumn dawns upon his sight.

    The tree outgrows the bud's suggestive grace
    And feels new pride in blossoms fully blown.
    But even this to deeper joy gives place
    When bending boughs 'neath blushing burdens groan.

    Life's rarest moments are derived from change.
    The heart outgrows old happiness, old grief,
    And suns itself in feelings new and strange.
    The most enduring pleasure is but brief.

    Our tastes, our needs, are never twice the same.
    Nothing contents us long, however dear.
    The spirit in us, like the grosser frame,
    Outgrows the garments which it wore last year.

    Change is the watchword of Progression. When
    We tire of well-worn ways, we seek for new.
    This restless craving in the souls of men
    Spurs them to climb, and seek the mountain view.

    So let who will erect an altar shrine
    To meek-browed Constancy, and sing her praise.
    Unto enlivening Change I shall build mine,
    Who lends new zest, and interest to my days.