Upon this day, divinely blest,
When thou wert born, as to their guest,
Three seasons gave thee of their best.

March brought the graceful stir of Spring;
April, a tender song to sing;
May, the most winsome blossoming;

June gave sweet breath, and that pale flush
July has deepened in thy blush.
Repose came with the August hush.

September blent thy glowing hair
With glowing temple, as the air
Of twilight blendeth dark and fair.

October's dower was so rife
With treasure, futile further strife,
And so November gave thee — life.

So keen and icy was the smart
Of Winter (since he had no part
In fashioning thy radiant heart),

He bade December so to plead
For thee, petitioning his need,
That the relenting Fates took heed;

And though November's thou must be,
Yet nearest Winter (they decree)
Is set thy gracious ministry.