The Seasons of Love.

By George Pope Morris

The spring-time of love

Is both happy and gay,

For joy sprinkles blossoms

And balm in our way;

The sky, earth, and ocean,

In beauty repose,

And all the bright future

Is COLEUR DE ROSE.

The summer of love

Is the bloom of the heart,

When hill, grove, and valley,

Their music impart;

And the pure glow of heaven

Is seen in fond eyes,

As lakes show the rainbow

That's hung in the skies.

The autumn of love

Is the season of cheer —

Life's mild Indian summer,

The smile of the year!

Which comes when the golden

Ripe harvest is stored,

And yields its own blessings —

Repose and reward.

The winter of love

Is the beam that we win

While the storm scowls without,

From the sunshine within.

Love's reign is eternal —

The heart is his throne,

And he has all seasons

Of life for his own.