READER'S ROCK LIFESTYLE MAGAZINE VOL 2 ISSUE 4 NOVEMBER 2014 Vol. 1 Issue 5 November 2013 | Page 55

FOUR SONNETS TO
THE FOUR SEASONS.
BY MARY SPENSER PEASE
Goodey’s January 1851

SPRING.
From mountain top, and from the deep-voiced valley,
The snow-white mists are slowly upward wreathing:
Now floating wide, now hovering close, to dally
With sportive winds, around them lightly breathing,
Till, in the quickening Spring-shine through them creeping,
Their gloomy power dissolves in warmth and gladness;
While swift, new tides through Nature's heart-pulse sweeping.
Floods all her veins with a delicious madness.
Warmed into life, a world of bright shapes thronging—
Young, tender leaf-buds in fresh greenness swelling,
Flower, bird, and insect, with prophetic longing,
Pour forth their joy in tremulous hymns upwelling:
Thus, Love's Spring sun dispels all chill and sorrow
With joyful promise of Love's fullest morrow.

SUMMER.
Sweet incense from the heart of myriad flowers,
Sweet as the breath that parts the lips of love,
Floats softly upward through the sunny hours,
Hiving its fragrance in the warmth above:
Big with rich store, the teeming earth yields up
The increase of her harvest treasury;
While golden wine, from Nature's brimming cup,
Quickens her pulse to love-toned melody.
Full choiréd praise from countless glad throats break,
More dazzling bright doth gleam night's dewy eyes;
A newer witchery doth the great moon wake;
More mellow languisheth the bending skies:
Thus, through the heart Life's Summer-sun comes stealing,
Spring's wildest promise in Love's fulness sealing.

AUTUMN.
Athwart the ripe, red sunshine fitfully,
Like withering doubts through Love's warm, flushing breast,
With wailing voice of saddest augury,
Sweeps from the frozen North a phantom guest.
With icy finger on each yellow leaf
Writes he the history of the dying year.
Love's harvest reaped, the grainless stalk and sheaf—
Like plundered hearts, unkerneled of sweet cheer—
Lie black and bare, exposed to rudest tread:
While still, with semblance of the Summer brave,
Soft, pitying airs float o'er its cold death-bed;
Bright flowers and motley leaves flaunt o'er its grave:
As in Earth's Autumn—so, through weeping showers,
Love sighs a mournful requiem over bygone hours.

WINTER.
Locked in a close embrace, like that of Death,
Earth's pulseless heart reposes, mute and chill;
Within her frozen breast, her frozen breath,
In its forgotten fragrance, slumbereth still:
Sapless her veins, and numb her withered arms,
That still, outstretched, stand grim mementos drear
Of her once gorgeous and full-leavéd charms.
Of flower and fruit, all increase of the year:
Voiceless the river, in ice fretwork chained;
Hushed the sweet cadences of bird and bee;
Dumb the last echo to soft music trained,
And warmth and life are a past memory:
Thus, buried deep within dull Winter's rime,
Love dreamless sleeps through the long Winter-time.