Four seasons rumble and fill the year,
Gasping at the wings of delight and decision,
Like apes that arise in midwinter,
Lists of heavenly men and women.
My soul has been contented,
By the nearest Paradise
That filled the years of my decline,
Had it been a winter of winters.
Four of them deny me access
To the sins of the fellows that mind
Me with the streams bustling
But enjoying the streaming of music.
Four of them, and then the spring
Shall defy summer that sings to the love
Of its autumn, that swings to the tune
Of winter, once winter augustly sings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem