He bade the sun come out and he came.
He rode over a bright blue sky, and all that was still alive in the valley raised itself towards him for warmth.
“Call Spring back to the valleys! Give us Summer again!”
The sun gleamed upon the hoar-frost but could not melt it; he stared down at the snow, but could not thaw it. The valley lay silent.
“That’s how I like to see the land,” said Winter.
The Prince of Winter sat on his mountain throne again and surveyed his kingdom and was glad. His great cold eyes stared, while he growled in his beard.
Proud of speed and hard of hand,
A cruel lord to follow,
Winter locks up sea and land,
Blocks up every hollow.
Summer coaxes, sweet and bland,
Flowers in soft vigour,
At Winter’s harsh and grim command
They die of ruthless rigour.
Short and cold is Winter’s Day,
Long and worse night’s hours,
Few birds languish in his pay
And yet fewer flowers.
The days wore on and Winter reigned over the land.