No words could sing your beauty which belongs Outlined against the sky majestically. Within your forest glades a thousand songs Wing answering again in ecstasy, -- When spring returns in all its burgeonings; Full throated summer follows on the air, With deeper, sadder notes that autumn brings, And winter symphonies of trees stripped bare. For now discerning eyes must love you best Who sing, when ice has covered all your trees, Deep, minor music blending with the rest; Spring, summer, autumn's thrilling melodies Of music gather volume in the dawn, When winter reigns with cold, bleak curtains drawn. |