Winter is cold-hearted,
Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weather-cock
Blown every way;
Summer days for me

When every leaf is on its tree;
When robin's not a beggar,
And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hang singing, singing, singing
Over the wheat-fields wide,

And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
Swings from side to side;
And blue-black beetles transact business,
And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten

That no time be lost,
And moths grow fat and thrive,
And ladybirds arrive.
Before green apples blush,
Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country,

Is worth a month in town;
Is worth a day and a year
Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
That days drone elsewhere.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI