The story goes on to tell how, at last, weary with wintriness, she
travelled towards the southern regions of her globe, to meet the spring
on its slow way northwards; and how, after many sad adventures, many
disappointed hopes, and many tears, bitter and fruitless, she found
at last, one stormy afternoon, in a leafless forest, a single snowdrop
growing betwixt the borders of the winter and spring. She lay down
beside it and died. I almost believe that a child, pale and peaceful as
a snowdrop, was born in the Earth within a fixed season from that stormy
afternoon.