THE HUMAN SEASONS

And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turn'd to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sighM for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,

" Wouldst thou me ? "
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,

Murmur Jd like a noontide bee,
" Shall I nestle near thy side ?
Wouldst thou me ? "—And I replied, 10

" No, not thee ! "

Death will come when thou art dead,

Soon, too soon—
Sleep will come when thou art fled ;

Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night—
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon !

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

THE HUMAN SEASONS
FOUR seasons fill the measure of the year ;
There are four seasons in the mind of man : 20
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span :
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honey5 d cud of youthful thought he
loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven : quiet coves