Here winter keeps his revelry.
“I’ve been a dweller on the plains,
Have sigh’d when summer days were gone;
No more I’ll sigh; for winter here 75
Hath gladsome gardens of his own.
“What need of flowers? The splendid moss
Is gayer than an April mead;
More rich its hues of various green,
Orange and gold and glowing red.” 80
——Beside that gay and lovely rock