SO PASSED the gentle springtime away in budding beauty; its silver showers and sunshine, its green meadows and its flowers.

So, likewise, passed the summer with its yellow sunlight, its quivering heat and deep, bosky foliage, its long twilights and its mellow nights, through which the frogs croaked and fairy folk were said to be out on the hillsides.
All this had passed and the time of fall had come, bringing with it its own pleasures and joyousness; for now, when the harvest was gathered home, merry bands of gleaners roamed the country about, singing along the roads in the daytime, and sleeping beneath the hedgerows and the hay-ricks at night.

Now the hips burned red in the tangled thickets and the hews waxed black in the hedgerows, the stubble lay all crisp and naked to the sky, and the green leaves were fast turning russet and brown.

Also, at this merry season, good things of the year are gathered in in great store.

Brown ale lies ripening in the cellar, hams and bacon hang in the smoke-shed, and crabs are stowed away in the straw for roasting in the wintertime, when the north wind piles the snow in drifts around the gables and the fire crackles warm upon the hearth.
So passed the seasons then, so they pass now, and so they will pass in time to come, while we come and go like leaves of the tree that fall and are soon forgotten.
Quoth Robin Hood, snuffing the air, "Here is a fair day, Little John, and one that we can ill waste in idleness.