☀️ The summer grasses— Of the brave soldiers' dreams The aftermath. ☀️
❄️ That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble, An’ cranreuch cauld! ❄️
☀️ In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream— Lingering in the golden gleam— Life, what is it but a dream? ☀️
🌷 in Just- spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame balloonman whistles far and wee 🌷
❄️ There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— ❄️
🌷 April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. 🌷
🍂 My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree Toward heaven still, And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill Beside it, and there may be two or three Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough. But I am done with apple-picking now. 🍂
❄️ Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. ❄️
🌷 Nothing is so beautiful as spring— When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing; 🌷
🌷 Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. 🌷
🍂 And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours. 🍂
☀️ There is no price set on the lavish summer, And June may be had by the poorest comer. And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays: ☀️
❄️ Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. ❄️
☀️ Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. ☀️
🍂 O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, 🍂
🍂 The long sobs Of the violins Of Autumn Wound my heart With a monotonous Langour. 🍂
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There are 4 poems representing each season: 🌷 Spring, ☀️ Summer, 🍂 Autumn, ❄️ Winter
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