And the world to silent slumber speeds With her face a deathly pallor painted; As she from the warming Sun recedes And into the cold so darkly tainted. All around are the leaves, liver spotted, (That trail the footsteps of the summer robed) They slowly back to earth are rotted, Leaving bare trees so recent greenly clothed! But ask! where is the cold, where is the snow? Where’s Jack Frost’s paintings on the morning glass? Or chattering teeth, Goosebumps and stinging toes, And all other things that with Winter goes? Man’s distain’s caused Gaia to breathe her last? If so, where now is there for us to go?