Then sleep the seasons, full of might;      While slowly swells the pod, And rounds the peach, and in the night      The mushroom bursts the sod. The winter comes: the frozen rut      Is bound with silver bars; The white drift heaps against the hut;      And night is pierced with stars.
The Seasons, by Coventry Patmore. As featured in A Victorian Posy: Penhaligon's Scented Treasury of Verse And Prose, 1987 edition.










