Season

 1 Spring|   many tales,~That their lax hands forget the fibre must be
 2 Spring|   plots are waiting for your hands. ~So lay aside the flax
 3 Summer|    And gloats as through his hands he pours his hoarded gold, ~
 4 Summer|      s been plucked by human hands - ~Adored a while for its
 5 Summer|   pay. ~Among the grown farm hands at times there is a rogue, ~
 6 Summer|      recompense. ~"When such hands start to work, you cannot
 7 Autumn|     But took chunks in their hands and gobbled breathlessly, ~
 8 Autumn|   two ungainly ladles in his hands,~Into a steaming pot was
 9 Autumn|   sodden foods. ~Poor I with hands beclasped, as pious peasants
10 Autumn| dumbly play into the devil's hands, ~Lead their own servants,
11 Winter| spoiled boors~And many hired hands who strongly down that food;~