Classic Poem

To those who in leisure may meet
Comes Summer, green, fragrant and fair,
With roses and stars in her hair,
Summer, as motherhood sweet—
To us, in the waste of the street
No Summer, only—The Heat.

To those of the fortunate fold
Comes Winter, snow-clean and ice-bright,
With joy for the day and night,
Winter, as fatherhood bold—
To us, without silver or gold,
No Winter,—only—The Cold.