And Spring bowed over a little blue flower that sprouted at his foot and sang, sadly:
Forget-me-not blue,
Thou dreamy one,
Thou charming one,
Thou sweet one!
Then he went northwards. And, wherever he set his foot, the snow melted and the flowers burst forth.
But, when he had come to the last place from which he could see the valley, he turned round.
And far away towards the South, where the valley runs into the plain, stood the Prince of Summer, tall and straight. His face and his hands were brown with the sun, his eyes gentle and warm as the sun. Over his shoulder he wore a purple cloak, around his loins a golden girdle. In the girdle was a wonderful red rose.
Then Spring bowed low and went away over the mountains.