Shifting Seasons. (Wordsworth)

The voice of waters which winter had supplied

from all living things went circling,

From budding groves to steps of June,

From greening; herald of purpling.

The stream sent sallies of glad sound

that vied with song of linnet and thrush ,

Heard in the bosom of the birch,

Echoed in every bush.

The yew, the holly and the bright green thorn

send forth the hue of common pleasure,

Even the shepherd's dog made song,

Unlikely herald of summer leisure.

In the confusion of my heart ,

Alive to all and forgetting all,

Beast and bird, lamb and foal,

Splashing in nature's waterfall.

Still, spring impregnates summer

and summer delivers in Fall,

Winter buries all forbidden fruit,

Season, once more, lays out her stall.

{from 'To Joanna}