Then he stopped before the old oak and looked at the ivy that clambered right up to the top and spread her green leaves as if Winter had no existence at all. And while he looked at it the ivy-flowers blossomed! They sat right at the top and rocked in the wind!
“Now I’m coming,” roared Winter from the mountains. “My clouds are bursting with snow; and my storms are breaking loose. I can restrain them no longer.”
The Prince of Autumn bent his head and listened. He could hear the storm come rushing down over the mountains. A snowflake fell upon his motley cloak ... and another ... and yet another....
For the last time he put his horn to his mouth and blew:
Thou greenest plant and tardiest, Thou fairest, rarest, hardiest, Bright through unending hours! Round Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring, Thy vigorous embraces cling. Look! Ivy mine, ’tis I who sing, ’Tis Autumn wins thy flowers!
Then he went away in the storm.
THE SCARF OF THE LADY
(A French Harvest Legend)