“ ‘Perceiv’st thou not the process of the year, How the four seasons in four forms appear, Resembling human life in every shape they wear? Spring, first, like infancy, shoots out her head, With milky juice requiring to be fed: Helpless, though fresh, and wanting to be led. The green stem grows in stature, and in size, But only feeds with hope the farmer’s eyes; Then laughs the childish year with flow’rets crown’d, And lavishly perfumes the fields around. But no substantial nourishment receives; Infirm the stalks, unsolid are the leaves.

“ ‘Proceeding onward whence the year began, The summer grows adult, and ripens into man. This season, as in men, is most replete With kindly moisture, and prolific heat.

“ ‘Autumn succeeds, a sober tepid age, Not froze with fear, nor boiling into rage; More than mature, and tending to decay, When our brown locks repine to mix with odious gray.