The Spring-time, O the Spring-time! 
Who does not know it well? 
When the little birds begin to build, 
And the buds begin to swell. 
When the sun with the clouds plays hide-and-seek, 
And the lambs are bucking and bleating, 
And the colour mounts to the maiden's cheek, 
And the cuckoo scatters greeting; 
In the Spring-time, joyous Spring-time! 

The Summer, O the Summer! 
Who does not know it well? 
When the ringdoves coo the long day through, 
And the bee refills his cell. 
When the swish of the mower is heard at morn, 
And we all in the woods go roaming, 
And waiting is over, and love is born, 
And shy lips meet in the gloaming; 
In the Summer, ripening Summer! 

The Autumn, O the Autumn! 
Who does not know it well? 
When the leaf turns brown, and the mast drops down, 
And the chestnut splits its shell. 
When we muse o'er the days that have gone before, 
And the days that will follow after, 
When the grain lies deep on the winnowing-floor, 
And the plump gourd hangs from the rafter; 
In the Autumn, thoughtful Autumn! 

The Winter, O the Winter! 
Who does not know it well? 
When, day after day, the fields stretch gray, 
And the peewit wails on the fell. 
When we close up the crannies and shut out the cold, 
And the wind sounds hoarse and hollow, 
And our dead loves sleep in the churchyard mould, 
And we feel that we soon shall follow; 
In the Winter, mournful Winter! 

There was born to the world last night 
A woman-child for the world's delight. 
Her mouth was small as a rosebud is 
Before the bee and the blossom kiss; 
Her hair was a cloud and her eyes were fire. 
Her hands were full of delight and desire. 
Her cheek was a rose full blossoming. 
Her voice was honey, her tongue a sting. 

Before the night took thought of the day 
The child was born — with a caul, they say. 
The caul shall serve her in place of a charm, 
That water and fire shall not do her harm. 
The child was born to bring all men grief. 
Hunger and thirsting beyond relief. 
An ill star shone on the bitter morn 
When the mother died and the child was bom. 

She shall be christened with water of tears. 
With doubtful pleasure and trembling fears; 
We will name her Helen, that she shall be 
A warning, a wonder 'twixt sea and sea. 
Though the waves o'erwhelm her, she shall not drown. 
She shall not burn in the burning town: 
Except she burn of her own white fire. 
The world's disaster, the world's desire.