“But it’s all over now. Away, away.” And soon the winter passed. “Away,
away,” barked the hoarse yard-dog. But the girls in the house sang,
“Come from your fragrant home, green thyme;
Stretch your soft branches, willow-tree;
The months are bringing the sweet spring-time,
When the lark in the sky sings joyfully.
Come gentle sun, while the cuckoo sings,
And I’ll mock his note in my wanderings.”
And nobody thought any more of the Snow Man.
