Question

Poetry:
How does the poet William Barnes describe nature in the poem Seasons and Time?​

Answer 1

Answer:

Awhile in the dead of the winter,

The wind hurries keen through the sunshine,

But finds no more leaves that may linger

On tree-boughs to strew on the ground.

Long streaks of bright snow-drift, bank-shaded,

Yet lie on the slopes, under hedges;

But still all the road out to Thorndon

Would not wet a shoe on the ground.

The days, though the cold seems to strengthen,

Outlengthen their span, and the evening

Seeks later and later its westing,

To cast its dim hue on the ground,

Till tree-heads shall thicken their shadow

With leaves of a glittering greenness,

And daisies shall fold up their blossoms

At evening, in dew on the ground;

And then, in the plum-warding garden,

Or shadowy orchard, the house-man

Shall smile at his fruit, really blushing,

Where sunheat shoots through on the ground.

What season do you feel the fairest—

The season of sowing or growing,

Or season of mowing and ripeness,

When hay may lie new on the ground?

And like you the glittering morning,

Or short-shaded noon, or the coming

Of slant-lighted evening, or moonlight,

When footsteps are few on the ground?

Explanation:

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Answer 2

Answer:

Awhile in the dead of the winter,

The wind hurries keen through the sunshine,

But finds no more leaves that may linger

On tree-boughs to strew on the ground.

Long streaks of bright snow-drift, bank-shaded,

Yet lie on the slopes, under hedges;

But still all the road out to Thorndon

Would not wet a shoe on the ground.

The days, though the cold seems to strengthen,

Outlengthen their span, and the evening

Seeks later and later its westing,

To cast its dim hue on the ground,

Till tree-heads shall thicken their shadow

With leaves of a glittering greenness,

And daisies shall fold up their blossoms

At evening, in dew on the ground;

And then, in the plum-warding garden,

Or shadowy orchard, the house-man

Shall smile at his fruit, really blushing,

Where sunheat shoots through on the ground.

What season do you feel the fairest—

The season of sowing or growing,

Or season of mowing and ripeness,

When hay may lie new on the ground?

And like you the glittering morning,

Or short-shaded noon, or the coming

Of slant-lighted evening, or moonlight,

When footsteps are few on the ground?

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