Above all that is the translation into music of the profound emotions to which the different aspects of nature give birth, as the freshness of the forests, the stifling heat before a storm, the storm itself, and the wonderful sunset that follows.

Then there is a huntsman's chorus which strikes an entirely different note.
There are grape harvests, with the mad dances that follow them.

There is the winter, with a poignant introduction which reminds us of pages in Schumann.

But be reassured, the author does not leave us to the rigors of the cold.

He takes us into a farmhouse where the women are spinning and where the peasants are drawn about the fire, listening to a funny tale and laughing immoderately with a gaiety which has never been surpassed.
But this gigantic work does not end without giving us a glimpse of Heaven, for with one grand upward burst of flight, Haydn reaches the realms where Handel and Beethoven preceded him.