CHAPTER II
Spring
In azure now out of grey mist grew
My own sweet violet, shy and blue,
With eyes of smiling sunshine
And tears of diamond dew.
The Prince of Winter sat on the mountains and gazed upon the valley.
He knew that Spring must soon be here and anxiously looked out for him. But there was nothing to see but snow and snow and yet more snow; and he began to think that young Spring was afraid.
He laughed scornfully and sent his gales howling round the mountain-peaks. Wildly they rushed over the hills, snapped great trees in the wood and broke the ice on the river to pieces. They drove the floes before them, flung them over the meadows and whipped the water into foam.
“There, there!” said Winter. “Softly, my children, softly!”
He bade them go down again; and, grumbling, they crept round behind the mountains.