George Parsons Lathrop (1851–1898)

THOU art my morning, twilight, noon, and eve,

My Summer and my Winter, Spring and Fall;

For Nature left on thee a touch of all

The moods that come to gladden or to grieve

The heart of Time, with purpose to relieve

From lagging sameness. So do these forestall

In thee such o’erheaped sweetnesses as pall

Too swiftly, and the taster tasteless leave.

Scenes that I love, to me always remain

Beautiful, whether under summer’s sun

Beheld, or, storm-dark, stricken across with rain.

So, through all humors thou ’rt the same, sweet one:

Doubt not I love thee well in each, who see

Thy constant change is changeful constancy.