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| Additional Information | |
| January hath 31 days | February hath 28 days |
| Withering and keen the Winter comes, While Comfort flies to close-shut rooms, And sees the snow in feathers pass, Winnowing by the window-glass. |
With his ice, and snow, and rime, Let bleak Winter sternly come! There is not a sunnier clime Than the love-lit winter home. |
| March hath 31 days | April hath 30 days |
| March, month of "many weathers," wildly comes In hail, and snow, and rain and threatening hums. And floods; - while often at his cottage door The shepherd stands, to hear the distant roar. |
The little brooks run on in light, As if they had a chase of mirth; The skies are blue the air is warm, Our very hearts have caught the charm That sheds a beauty over the earth. |
| May hath 31 days | June hath 30 days |
| Up - let us to the fields away, And breathe the fresh and balmy air; The bird is building in the tree, The flower has opened to the bee, And health, and love, and peace are there. |
The green and breezy hills - away! My heart is light, my foot is free, And, resting on the topmost peak, The freshening gale shall fan my cheek, - The hills were ever dear to me. |
| July hath 31 days | August hath 31 days |
| Now let me tread the meadow paths While glittering dew the ground illumes, As sprinkled o'er the withering swaths, Their moisture shrinks in sweet perfumes. |
Around him ply the reaper band, With lightsome heart and eager hand, And mirth and music cheer the toil, While sheaves that stud the russet soil, And sickles gleaming in the sun. Tell jocund Autumn has begun. |
| September hath 30 days | October hath 31 days |
| Grey mists at born brood o'er the earth, Shadowy as those on northern seas; The gossamer's filmy work is done, Like a web by moonlight fairies spun, And left to whiten in the breeze. |
The sun bursts forth - the distant hills Shine out, and splendid is the day - A sombre radiance crowns each tree, A fading glory solemnly Hangs on each leaf in its decay. |
| November hath 30 days | December hath 31 days |
| Cold grows the foggy morn, the day is brief, Loose on the cherry hangs the crimson leaf; The dew dwells ever on the herb; the woods Roar with strong blasts, with mighty showers the floods. |
No mark of vegetable life is seen, No bird to bird repeats his tuneful call, Save the dark leaves of some rude evergreen, Save the lone red-breast on the moss-grown wall. |
| The data in the additional content section is courtesy of Galactic Central. | |
