Winter is cold-hearted,
        Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weathercock
         Blown every way:
Summer days for me
         When every leaf is on its tree;

When Robin's not a beggar,
         And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hang singing, singing, singing,
         Over the wheat-fields wide,
         And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
         Swings from side to side,

And blue-black beetles transact business,
         And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten
         That no time be lost,
And moths grow fat and thrive,
And ladybirds arrive.

Before green apples blush,
         Before green nuts embrown,
Why, one day in the country
         Is worth a month in town;
         Is worth a day and a year
Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
         That days drone elsewhere.