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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341989" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Four Songs Of Four Seasons</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I. WINTER IN NORTHUMBERLAND<br> OUTSIDE the garden<br> The wet skies harden;<br> The gates are barred on<br> The summer side:<br> &quot;Shut out the flower-time,<br> Sunbeam and shower-time;<br> Make way for our time,&quot;<br> Wild winds have cried.<br> Green once and cheery,<br> The woods, worn weary,<br> Sigh as the dreary<br> Weak sun goes home:<br> A great wind grapples<br> The wave, and dapples<br>The dead green floor of the sea with foam.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Through fell and moorland,<br> And salt-sea foreland,<br> Our noisy norland<br> Resounds and rings;<br> Waste waves thereunder<br> Are blown in sunder,<br> And winds make thunder<br> With cloudwide wings;<br> Sea-drift makes dimmer<br> The beacon's glimmer;<br> Nor sail nor swimmer<br> Can try the tides;<br> And snowdrifts thicken<br> Where, when leaves quicken,<br>Under the heather the sundew hides.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Green land and red land,<br> Moorside and headland,<br> Are white as dead land,<br> Are all as one;<br> Nor honied heather,<br> Nor bells to gather,<br> Fair with fair weather<br> And faithful sun:<br> Fierce frost has eaten<br> All flowers that sweeten<br> The fells rain-beaten;<br> And winds their foes<br> Have made the snow's bed<br> Down in the rose-bed;<br>Deep in the snow's bed bury the rose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Bury her deeper<br> Than any sleeper;<br> Sweet dreams will keep her<br> All day, all night;<br> Though sleep benumb her<br> And time o'ercome her,<br> She dreams of summer,<br> And takes delight,<br> Dreaming and sleeping<br> In love's good keeping,<br> While rain is weeping<br> And no leaves cling;<br> Winds will come bringing her<br> Comfort, and singing her<br>Stories and songs and good news of the spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Draw the white curtain<br> Close, and be certain<br> She takes no hurt in<br> Her soft low bed;<br> She feels no colder,<br> And grows not older,<br> Though snows enfold her<br> From foot to head;<br> She turns not chilly<br> Like weed and lily<br> In marsh or hilly<br> High watershed,<br> Or green soft island<br> In lakes of highland;<br>She sleeps awhile, and she is not dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> For all the hours,<br> Come sun, come showers,<br> Are friends of flowers,<br> And fairies all;<br> When frost entrapped her,<br> They came and lapped her<br> In leaves, and wrapped her<br> With shroud and pall;<br> In red leaves wound her,<br> With dead leaves bound her<br> Dead brows, and round her<br> A death-knell rang;<br> Rang the death-bell for her,<br> Sang, &quot;is it well for her,<br>Well, is it well with you, rose?&quot; they sang.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O what and where is<br> The rose now, fairies,<br> So shrill the air is,<br> So wild the sky?<br> Poor last of roses,<br> Her worst of woes is<br> The noise she knows is<br> The winter's cry;<br> His hunting hollo<br> Has scared the swallow;<br> Fain would she follow<br> And fain would fly:<br> But wind unsettles<br> Her poor last petals;<br>Had she but wings, and she would not die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Come, as you love her,<br> Come close and cover<br> Her white face over,<br> And forth again<br> Ere sunset glances<br> On foam that dances,<br> Through lowering lances<br> Of bright white rain;<br> And make your playtime<br> Of winter's daytime,<br> As if the Maytime<br> Were here to sing;<br> As if the snowballs<br> Were soft like blowballs,<br>Blown in a mist from the stalk in the spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Each reed that grows in<br> Our stream is frozen,<br> The fields it flows in<br> Are hard and black;<br> The water-fairy<br> Waits wise and wary<br> Till time shall vary<br> And thaws come back.<br> &quot;O sister, water,&quot;<br> The wind besought her,<br> &quot;O twin-born daughter<br> Of spring with me,<br> Stay with me, play with me,<br> Take the warm way with me,<br>Straight for the summer and oversea.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But winds will vary,<br> And wise and wary<br> The patient fairy<br> Of water waits;<br> All shrunk and wizen,<br> In iron prison,<br> Till spring re-risen<br> Unbar the gates;<br> Till, as with clamor<br> Of axe and hammer,<br> Chained streams that stammer<br> And struggle in straits<br> Burst bonds that shiver,<br> And thaws deliver<br>The roaring river in stormy spates.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> In fierce March weather<br> White waves break tether,<br> And whirled together<br> At either hand,<br> Like weeds uplifted,<br> The tree-trunks rifted<br> In spars are drifted,<br> Like foam or sand,<br> Past swamp and sallow<br> And reed-beds callow,<br> Through pool and shallow,<br> To wind and lee,<br> Till, no more tongue-tied,<br> Full flood and young tide<br>Roar down the rapids and storm the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> As men's cheeks faded<br> On shores invaded,<br> When shorewards waded<br> The lords of fight;<br> When churl and craven<br> Saw hard on haven<br> The wide-winged raven<br> At mainmast height;<br> When monks affrighted<br> To windward sighted<br> The birds full-flighted<br> Of swift sea-kings;<br> So earth turns paler<br> When Storm the sailor<br>Steers in with a roar in the race of his wings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O strong sea-sailor,<br> Whose cheek turns paler<br> For wind or hail or<br> For fear of thee?<br> O far sea-farer,<br> O thunder-bearer,<br> Thy songs are rarer<br> Than soft songs be.<br> O fleet-foot stranger,<br> O north-sea ranger<br> Through days of danger<br> And ways of fear,<br> Blow thy horn here for us,<br> Blow the sky clear for us,<br>Send us the song of the sea to hear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Roll the strong stream of it<br> Up, till the scream of it<br> Wake from a dream of it<br> Children that sleep,<br> Seamen that fare for them<br> Forth, with a prayer for them:<br> Shall not God care for them<br> Angels not keep?<br> Spare not the surges<br> Thy stormy scourges;<br> Spare us the dirges<br> Of wives that weep.<br> Turn back the waves for us:<br> Dig no fresh graves for us,<br>Wind, in the manifold gulfs of the deep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O stout north-easter,<br> Sea-king, land-waster,<br> For all thine haste, or<br> Thy stormy skill,<br> Yet hadst thou never,<br> For all endeavour,<br> Strength to dissever<br> Or strength to spill,<br> Save of his giving<br> Who gave our living,<br> Whose hands are weaving<br> What ours fulfil;<br> Whose feet tread under<br> The storms and thunder;<br>Who made our wonder to work his will.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> His years and hours,<br> His world's blind powers,<br> His stars and flowers,<br> His nights and days,<br> Sea-tide and river,<br> And waves that shiver,<br> Praise God, the giver<br> Of tongues to praise.<br> Winds in their blowing,<br> And fruits in growing;<br> Time in its going,<br> While time shall be;<br> In death and living,<br> With one thanksgiving,<br>Praise him whose hand is the strength of the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II. SPRING IN TUSCANY<br>ROSE-RED lilies that bloom on the banner;<br> Rose-cheeked gardens that revel in spring;<br> Rose-mouthed acacias that laugh as they climb,<br>Like plumes for a queen's hand fashioned to fan her<br> With wind more soft than a wild dove's wing,<br> What do they sing in the spring of their time</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If this be the rose that the world hears singing,<br> Soft in the soft night, loud in the day,<br> Songs for the fireflies to dance as they hear;<br>If that be the song of the nightingale, springing<br> Forth in the form of a rose in May,<br> What do they say of the way of the year?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What of the way of the world gone Maying,<br> What of the work of the buds in the bowers,<br> What of the will of the wind on the wall,<br>Fluttering the wall-flowers, sighing and playing,<br> Shrinking again as a bird that cowers,<br> Thinking of hours when the flowers have to fall?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Out of the throats of the loud birds showering,<br> Out of the folds where the flag-lilies leap,<br> Out of the mouths of the roses stirred,<br>Out of the herbs on the walls reflowering,<br> Out of the heights where the sheer snows sleep,<br> Out of the deep and the steep, one word.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One from the lips of the lily-flames leaping,<br> The glad red lilies that burn in our sight,<br> The great live lilies for standard and crown;<br>One from the steeps where the pines stand sleeping,<br> One from the deep land, one from the height,<br> One from the light and the might of the town.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lowlands laugh with delight of the highlands,<br> Whence May winds feed them with balm and breath<br> From hills that beheld in the years behind<br>A shape as of one from the blest souls' islands,<br> Made fair by a soul too fair for death,<br> With eyes on the light that should smite them blind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Vallombrosa remotely remembers,<br> Perchance, what still to us seems so near<br> That time not darkens it, change not mars,<br>The foot that she knew when her leaves were September's,<br> The face lift up to the star-blind seer,<br> That saw from his prison arisen his stars.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Pisa broods on her dead, not mourning,<br> For love of her loveliness given them in fee;<br> And Prato gleams with the glad monk's gift<br>Whose hand was there as the hand of morning;<br> And Siena, set in the sand's red sea,<br> Lifts loftier her head than the red sand's drift.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And far to the fair south-westward lightens,<br> Girdled and sandalled and plumed with flowers,<br> At sunset over the love-lit lands,<br>The hill-side's crown where the wild hill brightens,<br> Saint Fina's town of the Beautiful Towers,<br> Hailing the sun with a hundred hands.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Land of us all that have loved thee dearliest,<br> Mother of men that were lords of man,<br> Whose name in the world's heart work a spell<br>My last song's light, and the star of mine earliest,<br> As we turn from thee, sweet, who wast ours for a span,<br> Fare well we may not who say farewell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III. SUMMER IN AUVERGNE<br>THE sundawn fills the land<br>Full as a feaster's hand<br>Fills full with bloom of bland<br> Bright wine his cup;<br>Flows full to flood that fills<br>From the arch of air it thrills<br>Those rust-red iron hills<br> With morning up.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dawn, as a panther springs,<br>With fierce and fire-fledged wings<br>Leaps on the land that rings<br> From her bright feet<br>Through all its lava-black<br>Cones that cast answer back<br>And cliffs of footless track<br> Where thunders meet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The light speaks wide and loud<br>From deeps blown clean of cloud<br>As though day's heart were proud<br> And heaven's were glad;<br>The towers brown-striped and grey<br>Take fire from heaven of day<br>As though the prayers they pray<br> Their answers had.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Higher in these high first hours<br>Wax all the keen church towers,<br>And higher all hearts of ours<br> Than the old hills' crown,<br>Higher than the pillared height<br>Of that strange cliff-side bright<br>With basalt towers whose might<br> Strong time bows down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the old fierce ruin there<br>Of the old wild princes' lair<br>Whose blood in mine hath share<br> Gapes gaunt and great<br>Toward heaven that long ago<br>Watched all the wan land's woe<br>Whereon the wind would blow<br> Of their bleak hate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dead are those deeds; but yet<br>Their memory seems to fret<br>Lands that might else forget<br> That old world's brand;<br>Dead all their sins and days;<br>Yet in this red clime's rays<br>Some fiery memory stays<br> That sears their land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV. AUTUMN IN CORNWALL<br>THE year lies fallen and faded<br>On cliffs by clouds invaded,<br>With tongues of storms upbraided,<br> With wrath of waves bedinned;<br>And inland, wild with warning,<br>As in deaf ears or scorning,<br>The clarion even and morning<br> Rings of the south-west wind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wild bents wane and wither<br>In blasts whose breath bows hither<br>Their grey-grown heads and thither,<br> Unblest of rain or sun;<br>The pale fierce heavens are crowded<br>With shapes like dreams beclouded,<br>As though the old year enshrouded<br> Lay, long ere life were done.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Full-charged with oldworld wonders,<br>From dusk Tintagel thunders<br>A note that smites and sunders<br> The hard frore fields of air;<br>A trumpet stormier-sounded<br>Than once from lists rebounded<br>When strong men sense-confounded<br> Fell thick in tourney there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From scarce a duskier dwelling<br>Such notes of wail rose welling<br>Through the outer darkness, telling<br> In the awful singer's ears<br>What souls the darkness covers,<br>What love-lost souls of lovers,<br>Whose cry still hangs and hovers<br> In each man's born that hears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For there by Hector's brother<br>And yet some thousand other<br>He that had grief to mother<br> Passed pale from Dante's sight;<br>With one fast linked as fearless,<br>Perchance, there only tearless;<br>Iseult and Tristram, peerless<br> And perfect queen and knight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A shrill-winged sound comes flying<br>North, as of wild souls crying<br>The cry of things undying,<br> That know what life must be;<br>Or as the old year's heart, stricken<br>Too sore for hope to quicken<br>By thoughts like thorns that thicken,<br> Broke, breaking with the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Algernon+Charles+Swinburne">Algernon Charles Swinburne</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341989" data-title="Four Songs Of Four Seasons de Algernon Charles Swinburne" data-description="I. WINTER IN NORTHUMBERLAND
 OUTSIDE the garden
 The wet skies harden;
 The gates are barred on
 The summer side:
 &quot;Shut out the flower-time,
 Sunbeam and shower-time;
 Make way for our time,&quot;
 Wild winds have cried.
 Green once and chee..."></div>
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