Then was winter come sudden upon the Lonely Isle, and the
lawns and gardens drew on a sparkling mantle of white snows;
their fountains were still, and all their bare
trees silent, and the far
sun glinted pale amid the mist or splintered upon facets of long
hanging ice. Still fared
Eriol not away, but watched the cold moon
from the frosty skies look down upon Mar Vanwa Tyalieva, and
when above the roofs the stars gleamed blue he would listen, yet
no sound of the flutes of Timpinen heard he now; for the breath of
summer is that sprite, and or ever autumn's secret presence fills
the air he takes his grey magic boat, and the swallows draw him far
away.