Text - "The Happy Prince, and Other Tales" Oscar Wilde

close and start typing
The poor children had now nowhere to play. They tried to play on the
road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did
not like it. They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons
were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside. "How happy we
were there," they said to each other.

Then the Spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms
and little birds. Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was still
winter. The birds did not care to sing in it as there were no children,
and the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head
out from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for
the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to
sleep. The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost.
"Spring has forgotten this garden," they cried, "so we will live here all
the year round." The Snow covered up the grass with her great white
cloak, and the Frost painted all the trees silver. Then they invited the
North Wind to stay with them, and he came. He was wrapped in furs, and
he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down.
"This is a delightful spot," he said, "we must ask the Hail on a visit."
So the Hail came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of
the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and
round the garden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in grey, and his
breath was like ice.

"I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming," said the
Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white
garden; "I hope there will be a change in the weather."

But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit
to every garden, but to the Giant’s garden she gave none. "He is too
selfish," she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind,
and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees.

One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely
music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the
King’s musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing
outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in
his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the
world. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind
ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open
casement. "I believe the Spring has come at last," said the Giant; and
he jumped out of bed and looked out.