Summer fading, winter comes— 
    

Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs 
Window robins, winter rooks, 
And the picture story-books.

Water now is turned to stone
       Nurse and I can walk upon; 
Still we find the flowing brooks 
In the picture story-books.

All the pretty things put by, 
Wait upon the children's eye,
       Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks, 
In the picture story-books.

We may see how all things are, 
Seas and cities, near and far, 
And the flying fairies' looks,
       In the picture story-books.

How am I to sing your praise, 
Happy chimney-corner days, 
Sitting safe in nursery nooks, 
Reading picture story-books?