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Alfred Austin - The Season
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 Sways on the lap of the delighted land;
 
 Just as-the day-toils over-you may see
 A fair-haired frolic girl on some proud father`s knee.
 For thee, when Summer`s festal day is done,
 In gracious splendour goes away the Sun,
 King with the purple glories round him furled,
 Casting his farewell largesse o`er the world.
 For thee the Moon on dark sequestered meres
 Sheds the mild lustre of celestial spheres.
 The spoiled and froward Ocean, all for thee,
 Now coaxed to love, now fretting to be free,
 With spume-fringed, scornful lip, and fierce delight,
 Hurls back defiance to rebuking Night;
 Then, wearied babe on hushing parent`s breast,
 On the soft sand-slope sobs itself to rest.

 This is my wealth: and this, thank Heaven, is such
 As Statesmen tax not, Envy cannot touch.
 My life is spent where real charms delight,
 Pure pastimes please, and simple joys excite,
 Far from the vapid glee, the restless rage,
 That jerks the puppets of your futile stage.
 I fear no Angel`s sword; no stern decree
 Bars the broad plains of Paradise to me.
 For me the Golden Gates stand open still;
 I pass, and roam through Eden where I will.
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