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