You would not search the woodside gayTo pick a springtime flowerWhen all the shuddering country groansBefore the North Wind's power.Nor would you seek with greedy handTo pluck your vines in May;The wine god gives his gift of grapesWhen Autumn's on the way.For God has fixed the season's tasksAnd each receives its own:No power is free to disarrayThe order God has shown.
-Boethius
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