Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.

Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.

Autumn to winter, winter into spring,
Spring into summer, summer into fall,--
So rolls the changing year, read more

Autumn to winter, winter into spring,
Spring into summer, summer into fall,--
So rolls the changing year, and so we change;
Motion so swift, we know not that we move.

January grey is here,
Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,
read more

January grey is here,
Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,
March with grief doth howl and rave,
And April weeps--but, O ye hours!
Follow with May's fairest flowers.

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, read more

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sunthaw; whether the eve-drops fall,
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Of if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet moon.

No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.

No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.

Autumn is a second spring where every leaf is a flower

Autumn is a second spring where every leaf is a flower

In a way winter is the real spring, the time when the inner things happen, the resurge of nature.

In a way winter is the real spring, the time when the inner things happen, the resurge of nature.

Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's read more

Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence. Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance. Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence. Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.

Our seasons have no fixed returns,
Without our will they come and go;
At noon our sudden read more

Our seasons have no fixed returns,
Without our will they come and go;
At noon our sudden summer burns,
Ere sunset all is snow.