fell asleep too.

The child saw all these things, and he wanted to ask his grandsire about
them, but his grandsire would not tell him of them; perhaps his grandsire
did not know.

The child saw the storm-king come down from the hills and ride furiously
over the meadows and over the forest and over the town. The snow fell
everywhere, and the north wind played solemn music in the chimneys. The
storm-king put the brook to bed, and threw a great mantle of snow over
him; and the brook that had romped and prattled all the summer and told
pretty tales to the grass and flowers,--the brook went to sleep too. With
all his fierceness and bluster, the storm-king was very kind; he did not
awaken the old oak-tree and the slumbering flowers. The little vine lay
under the fleecy snow against the old stone wall and slept peacefully, and
so did the violet and the daisy. Only the wicked old thistle thrashed
about in his sleep as if he dreamed bad dreams, which, all will allow, was
no more than he deserved.

All through that winter--and it seemed very long--the child thought of the
flowers and the vine and the old oak-tree, and wondered whether in the
springtime they would awaken from their sleep; and he wished for the
springtime to come. And at last the springtime came. One day the sunbeams
fluttered down from the sky and danced all over the meadow.

"Wake up, little friends!" cried the sunbeams,--"wake up, for it is the
springtime!"

The brook was the first to respond. So eager, so fresh, so exuberant was
he after his long winter sleep, that he leaped from his bed and frolicked