Each creature pressed impetuous round the fire. Gray hairs and hair still glossy bright with youth Pressed as to the high altar round the fire. Early and late the fire burned round the hearth, The fuel was as precious as the flame, And to give heat unto a single hearth Was worth the value of an aloe flower, And those who sold the fuel were in glee, And the wood market was a kingly realm, And he who bore with him a bag of gold Was poorer than the man who owned a wood. In short, the tyrant cold was lord o’er all, And each man found his house a prison cell. For Winter’s mighty tyrant reigned o’er all, And ravaged freely over all the wood. He scattered silver with a lavish hand, And all the world in silver frost was sunk. The cedars donned a silver coronet, And all the garden wore a silver braid. The very streams in silver mail were clad, And clumps of silvery ice adorned their banks. Thus Winter made his campaign for a time Within the precincts of the rose garden. But listen how it happened at the last That he retired and left the garden free. XLVII THE MONARCH SPRING RETIRES TO THE SOUTH TO THE KING OF THE EQUINOX, FROM WHOM HE ASKS HELP, AND WHO IMMEDIATELY ASSURES IT TO HIM, AND HE RETURNS THEREWITH TO THE CITY OF ROSE GARDEN O nightingale, whose voice is ever loud, And ever sounds within the entrance hall, Of what avail has been thy clamorous lay, For has the hour of thy fruition come? Within the cage thou must thy sojourn make, Who once couldst walk amid the rose garden. Surely thou hast enough of suffering spread, And now must still in disappointment pine. Thy flight has brought thee but to contumely, Now to fruition spread thy eager wings. For when misfortune gains its highest point, Relief is given to the suffering one. And all thy lamentations, what are they Unto the Rose who laughs amid thy woe? He who has drunk his full from legend’s cup Sings thus, deep, low in dregs of misery. And when the king who burns the world with fire, And has the happy August for his name, Conquered the city of the rose garden, And subjugated it and held it fast And vanquished all the treasures of the Spring, To leave his palace and his court behind, The monarch Spring, forsaking his estate, Fled to the safest city of the South. Many a day with toil and pain he rode, And came at last into a distant land, In the dominion of a mighty czar, Whose brows were crowned with buds of happiness. He was a monarch of astounding might, Full of munificence and mightiness. His noble bearing was with mildness formed. Gentle his mind, friendly, and delicate. For he was born beneath auspicious stars, Of those high stars that herald in the day. A lord of light was he, exalted high From his nobility and mighty fame;