'I play for Seasons; not Eternities!' br Says Nature, laughing on her way. 'So must br All those whose stake is nothing more than dust!' br And lo, she wins, and of her harmonies br She is full sure! Upon her dying rose, br She drops a look of fondness, and goes by, br Scarce any retrospection in her eye; br For she the laws of growth most deeply knows, br Whose hands bear, here, a seed-bag--there, an urn.