29.03.2008, 20:58
Though Night and Winter are two gloomy things,
Yet Night has stars, and Winter has the moss,
And the wee pearly goblets that emboss
The lumbering wall on which the redbreast sings.
Now the old year spreads wide his dusky wings,
And hovers o'er his many children dead;
Few are the blessings on his hoary head
Bestow'd by hearts whom cruel memory wrings,
And sad forebodings, for no stars are seen
In the dull night and winter of distress.
The chaliced mosses and the velvet green,
That clothe November with a seemly dress,
As furry spoils that cheer the red-hair'd Russ,
Shield not the poor from blasts impiteous.
Nov. 3rd, 1847
Yet Night has stars, and Winter has the moss,
And the wee pearly goblets that emboss
The lumbering wall on which the redbreast sings.
Now the old year spreads wide his dusky wings,
And hovers o'er his many children dead;
Few are the blessings on his hoary head
Bestow'd by hearts whom cruel memory wrings,
And sad forebodings, for no stars are seen
In the dull night and winter of distress.
The chaliced mosses and the velvet green,
That clothe November with a seemly dress,
As furry spoils that cheer the red-hair'd Russ,
Shield not the poor from blasts impiteous.
Nov. 3rd, 1847