THROUGH winter-time we call on spring, <br />And through the spring on summer call, <br />And when abounding hedges ring <br />Declare that winter's best of all; <br />And after that there s nothing good <br />Because the spring-time has not come -- <br />Nor know that what disturbs our blood <br />Is but its longing for the tomb.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wheel/
