Said the tree of
Hazelnut,
He says,
“I do declare! This
Season is great
And wondrous,
This Spring beyond compare!

“Look! O quiet winds do blow
Through quiet glades
Of lost meadows;
These gems heaped ‘pon
My plate so grande,
You cannot do
But to demand!”

Said the Grasses to
The Tree,
“Not so! my friend, my friend,
You see, this lovely season
Is bequeathed
To me! This smother’d
Warmth is doubtless, sure,
As if the wind caused
Cats to purr! For

“This is the Season of the
Sun, and it surely shall have
Won, doubtless she, with
Passion’s Kiss,
She is grandest of all.”

But, the Leaves, cried out
To Grass,
“My sirs, you both are
Wrong as Fire! for
Autumn’s embrace is cool
And sweet,
And a feast for eyes
Well met, indeed!
“For tho’ this Season’s
Beyond compare, what truly set’s
It ‘part,
Is the way those Maples
Flaunt their cloaks
So grand, like Solomon!”

But now, the Pine,
Quiet and shy,
She whispers a whisper
Almost a sigh,
“Good friends, the answer
Is plain to see
For myself, an ever green tree,
That the season, that one beauty,
Is Winter, and his cool embrace,
The frost is surely most full
Of Grace, ‘nd Snow! And
Ice no matter when, those three months
Must surely win,
For with no winter,
How can there
Be another to compare?”