Signature song

The heart has its seasons: heed them well Even if reasons are hard to spell Even if outbreak of springtime green Proceeds overnight to strip of scene Or mists in an instant quite enfold A midsummer's unspent quota of gold For each in its timing deeper goes Then calendared reckoning by bloom or snows: Each turns, and in turning ah, the yield Of what, without cost, must lie concealed. Until -- at last! -- the heart thus taught By savaging storms, through flood, through drought Itself has become so seasoned a thing That of every season it may sing: Of fountain -- in miracled thaw from freeze; Of hurricane's wane to breath of breeze; Of dews renewed; and given again What nectared fruits! what ripening grain As all -- all in one great round: This parabled course on earth -- is found At every spiralling turn to affirm Not wheel into dust, not drive towards doom But image by image O powered reverse Ceaselessly spelled Of Eden's curse.