There's a mist hanging over the mountain,

And the tumbling leaves fall down.

The trunks of the trees are black with damp,

And the lights of the cars pass rank on rank,

And Winter's doing his rounds.

 

The fires of Autumn are fading,

Her glory is turning to grey.

Winter sweeps up her leaves from under his feet,

And packs up her bags by the side of the street,

As she quietly slips away.

 

He'll stalk the streets with his lantern,

And freeze your bones with his glare.

He'll blow up a gale with his whistle and fife,

And slice through your cheeks with a barber's knife,

Walk with him if you dare!

 

He'll breathe on the gardens and alleys

Till everything freezes hard

And rarely a cranny escapes his cruel eyes

For he pierces with frost every plant that he spies

In the shelter of the yard

​

But under the wall like a promise

Autumn draped her cloak as she fled

And Winter saw not as he passed that way

How a rose in December had bloomed that day

With a single bud of red

​