The Four Seasons Sonnets

Spring 

Under a hard Season, fired up by the Sun 
Languishes man, languishes the flock and burns the pine 
We hear the cuckoo's voice; 
then sweet songs of the turtledove and finch are heard. 
Soft breezes stir the air, but threatening 
the North Wind sweeps them suddenly aside. 
The shepherd trembles, 
fearing violent storms and his fate. 

The fear of lightning and fierce thunder 
Robs his tired limbs of rest 
As gnats and flies buzz furiously around. 

Alas, his fears were justified 
The Heavens thunders and roar and with hail 
Cuts the head off the wheat and damages the grain.

Summer

Under a hard Season, fired up by the Sun 
Languishes man, languishes the flock and burns the pine 
We hear the cuckoo's voice; 
then sweet songs of the turtledove and finch are heard. 
Soft breezes stir the air, but threatening 
the North Wind sweeps them suddenly aside. 
The shepherd trembles, 
fearing violent storms and his fate. 

The fear of lightning and fierce thunder 
Robs his tired limbs of rest 
As gnats and flies buzz furiously around. 

Alas, his fears were justified 
The Heavens thunders and roar and with hail 
Cuts the head off the wheat and damages the grain.

Autumn

Celebrates the peasant, with songs and dances, 
The pleasure of a bountiful harvest. 
And fired up by Bacchus' liquor, 
many end their revelry in sleep. 

Everyone is made to forget their cares and to sing and dance 
By the air which is tempered with pleasure 
And (by) the season that invites so many, many 
Out of their sweetest slumber to fine enjoyment 

The hunters emerge at the new dawn, 
And with horns and dogs and guns depart upon their hunting 
The beast flees and they follow its trail; 
Terrified and tired of the great noise 
Of guns and dogs, the beast, wounded, threatens 
Languidly to flee, but harried, dies.

Winter

To tremble from cold in the icy snow, 
In the harsh breath of a horrid wind; 
To run, stamping one's feet every moment, 
Our teeth chattering in the extreme cold 

Before the fire to pass peaceful, 
Contented days while the rain outside pours down. 

We tread the icy path slowly and cautiously, 
for fear of tripping and falling. 
Then turn abruptly, slip, crash on the ground and, 
rising, hasten on across the ice lest it cracks up. 
We feel the chill north winds course through the home 
despite the locked and bolted doors... 
this is winter, which nonetheless 
brings its own delights.