He came with wings
And leaned upon your windowsill,
The streets were wide and quiet
And the flowers behind him were blossoming,
For he was turning the earth to Spring that day
And where he went the world was fair.

That delicate youth
Who worked the Winter from the cold house air,
He sat upon your windowsill
And his smiling lips, tinged with sorrow,
Wove you with words a bed of dreams
With silver sheets and golden pillows.

And leaning out to you he beckoned,
Reaching out through your long despair,
'Come!',he said - You clasped those hands
As if to wait might break his being there.

All the windows of your house are closed
And Winter once more is across the land,
Come the Summer I think I will travel south,
I hear they need good workers there.