Said Winter to the Rose:
“When first my cold breath blows,
Your gentle reign is done.”
But said the Rose quite fearless:
“New splendid buds and peerless
Are waiting for the sun.”

Said Winter to my love:
“With fur and muff and glove
Guard thou thyself, or die.”
But said my love: “What folly!
Though flowers be dead, the holly
Is bright against the sky.”

Said Winter unto me:
“Take heed, arise and flee;
Thy strength is spent. Beware!”
Said I: “My love is near me;
Her bright eyes soothe and cheer me;
Lo! June is in the air.”