A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the read more

A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken.

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.

Ah! well away!
Seasons flower and fade.

Ah! well away!
Seasons flower and fade.

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.

Autumn arrives in the early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.

Autumn arrives in the early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.

To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with read more

To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.

Long stormy spring-time, wet contentious April, winter chilling the lap of very May; but at length the season of summer read more

Long stormy spring-time, wet contentious April, winter chilling the lap of very May; but at length the season of summer does come

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.

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.