It was almost time for winter to come. The little birds had all gone
far away, for they were afraid of the cold. There was no green grass
in the fields, and there were no pretty flowers in the gardens. Many
of the trees had dropped all their leaves. Cold winter, with its snow
and ice, was coming.
At the foot of an old oak tree, some sweet little violets were still
in blossom. “Dear old oak,” said they, “winter is coming: we are
afraid that we shall die of the cold.”
“Do not be afraid, little ones,” said the oak, “close your yellow
eyes in sleep, and trust to me. You have made me glad many a time
with your sweetness. Now I will take care that the winter shall do
you no harm.”
So the violets closed their pretty eyes and went to sleep; they knew
that they could trust the kind old oak. And the great tree softly
dropped red leaf after red leaf upon them until they were all covered
over.
The cold winter came, with its snow and ice, but it could not harm
the little violets. Safe under the friendly leaves of the old oak
they slept, and dreamed happy dreams until the warm rains of spring
came and waked them again.
“No more the summer floweret charms,
The leaves will soon be sere,
And autumn folds his jeweled arms
Around the dying year.”