And Spring approaching looked
at huddled inglorious Winter.
"Begone," said Spring.
"There is nothing for you to do here," said Winter to her. Nevertheless
he drew about him his grey and battered cloak and rose and called to
his little bitter wind and up a side street that led northward strode away.
Pieces of paper and tall clouds of dust went with him as far as the city's
outer gate. He turned then and called to Spring: "You can do nothing
in this city," he said; then he marched homeward over plains and sea
and heard his old winds howling as he marched. The ice broke up
behind him and foundered like navies. To left and to right of him flew
the flocks of the sea-birds, and far before him the geese's triumphant
cry went like a clarion. Greater and greater grew his stature as he went
northwards and ever more kingly his mien. Now he took baronies at
a stride and now counties and came again to the snow-white frozen
lands where the wolves came out to meet him and, draping himself
anew with old grey clouds, strode through the gates of his invincible
home, two old ice barriers swinging on pillars of ice that had never
known the sun.
So the town was left to Spring. And she peered about to see
what she could do with it. Presently she saw a dejected dog coming
prowling down the road, so she sang to him and he gambolled. I saw
him next day strutting by with something of an air.
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