Cleodamos: Winter or Autumn, Summer-month or Spring —
Which yields most pleasure on its passing wing?
The Summer, when our harvest-toils are crowned,
Or Autumn sweet, when hunger light is found?
Or sluggish Winter? — since when Winters freeze
Many their cold limbs chafe in torpid fireside ease?
Or beauteous Spring? — be thy election made:
For we may talk at leisure in the shade.

Myrson: Befits not men to scan the heavenly things;
For each is holy; each its pleasure brings.
Yet for thy sake will I my reason name.
I would not Summer, when the sun strikes flame;
I would not Autumn, since the fruitful trees
Scatter the seeds of surfeit and disease;
Hard Winter's nipping frosts and snows I fear.
Be Spring, wisht Spring, my season thro the year.
Then neither cold our shrinking body bends,
Nor with hot stroke the o'er burdening sun impends;
All sweet things bud with sap of green delights
And man has equal days and equal nights.