The New Year wedded the winter—
Winter, the harsh old king!
Whose head was a snow-capped mountain—
Whose breath was the North-Wind's sting.
But he wooed and wedded the maiden,
And gave her a robe of snow;
And hung on her breast bright jewels,
With a lace-work of frost below.
And the days flowed on like a river;
And the mother looked up and smiled,
When she laid in the arms of Winter,
Their beautiful first-born child.
"And what shall we name our infant?"
She said to the harsh old king.
And the old man kissed her softly,
And said, "we will call her Spring."
"And how shall we robe our darling?
I have always dressed in white!
But she must be clothed in colors—
With something soft, and bright."
And the old man smiled and answered,
"We will give her a robe of green;
Trimmed with the fairest flowers,
And buds, that were ever seen!"
And he kissed the beautiful infant,
Softly on cheek, and brow,
And he clasped the hand of the mother,
And said "I am going now!
The days of my life were numbered,
And the last is slipping away.
But I leave you to guard our darling,
Wherever her steps shall stray."
1870