The Four Seasons.

The Four Seasons.

 

                                              To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
                                              For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
                                              Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
                                              Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
                                              Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
                                              In process of the seasons have I seen,
                                              Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
                                              Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
                                                                      -William Shakespeare. (Sonnet 104)