The Sad Years/A Fantasy

by Dora Sigerson Shorter

A FANTASY

I saw Winter 'neath a spindle tree,
She plucked berries bright to crown her head.
She was singing little robin's song
While wild beech-leaves round and round her spread.

I ran home into my little house,
Pulled to the shutters, barred up the door;
I knelt down to blow the fire to flame,
Great dark shadows danced upon the floor.

Long-legged shadows came from corners drear,
Leaped up white walls, fell, and climbed again.
I hear North Wind pushing at the gate,
I won't open, not for wind or rain.

Oh, run home, wee ones, lest the whirling leaves
Take ye far away, fairy folk to see.
Crowning her dark hair with berries red
I saw Winter 'neath a spindle tree.