O, Spring and Summer meet

Within thy heart to-day,

And Spring is fresh and sweet,

With dainty, dancing feet,

And lips that laugh alway.

And Summer is serene,

Mature and debonnaire,

And cometh like a queen,

Attired in gold and green,

With, roses in her hair.

They meet; they curtsy low--

Grave Summer, laughing Spring,

Then hand in hand they go,

To gather and to sow,

To labour and to sing.

O Spring can scatter yet

The seeds your hopes desire--

Daisy and mignonette,

Lily and violet,

And rose with heart of fire.

And Summer can fulfil,

From bud to perfect bloom,

Whatever flower you will,

Of meadow or of hill,

Of sunlight or of gloom.

Thy life is thine to make,

O happy, happy thou!

What seeds will Springtime take?

What buds will Summer wake?

'Tis thine to order now.

Both Spring and Summer wait

Thy bidding and decree;

Thou hast the seeds of Fate,

The infinite estate

Of all eternity.