“Tell me what does winter mean!”
’Tis a drea-ry change of scene—
When the meadow yields its bloom,
And the blo-soms seek their tomb.
Winter is the time of storms,
When the cloud in angry forms,
O’er the land in terror sweeps,
And the sighing forest weeps.
’Tis the funeral time of flowers,
Withered in their lovely bowers;