But his scattering locks were silver bright,
His beard with gathering frost was white;
The tears congealed on his furrowed cheek,
His garb was thin, and the winds were bleak.
He faintly uttered, while drawing near,
"
Winter
, the death of the short-lived year,
Can yield thee nought, as I downward tend
To the boundless sea, where the Seasons end!