a weight of grapes shall hang from its prolific stems.
While all joys return, the earth is dead and dull.

And:

The soft violets paint the field with their own purple, the
meadows are green with grass, the grass is bright with its fresh
shoots. Little by little, like stars, the bright flowers spring
up, and the sward is joyous and gay with flecks of colour, and
the birds that through the winter cold have been numb and silent,
with imprisoned song, are now recalled to their song.

He describes the cold winter, and a hot summer's day, when

Even in the forests no shade was to be found, and the traveller
almost fainted on the burning roads, longing for shade and cool
drinks. At last the rustle of a crystal stream is heard, he
hurries to it with delight, he lies down and lays his limbs in
the soft kisses of the grass.

His poems about beautiful and noteworthy places include some on the
Garonne and Gers (Egircius):

So dried up by heat that it is neither river nor land, and the
grumbling croak of the frog, sole ruler of the realm from which
the fish are banished, is heard in the lonely swamp; but when the
rain pours down, the flood swells, and what was a lake suddenly
becomes a sea.

He has many verses of this sort, written with little wit but great