 | Carol and Cadence |  |
34.
The melancholy month is come,
The month of dark and dule,
When the dull days and nights, for Winter dumb,
Drag on toward the Yule.
Th'infrequent sun his tarnished copper shield
Trails through the sullen sky;
The morning rises but in mists to die;
December holds the field.
The month of dark and dule,
When the dull days and nights, for Winter dumb,
Drag on toward the Yule.
Th'infrequent sun his tarnished copper shield
Trails through the sullen sky;
The morning rises but in mists to die;
December holds the field.
The shortening days become our nights,
The lengthening nights our days,
Wherein the finger of remembrance writes
Sad scriptures on the haze.
Through all the darkling hours, from dusk to dawn,
Whose gloom no moonlight cleaves,
Into the tapestry of thought it weaves
The threads of things bygone.
The lengthening nights our days,
Wherein the finger of remembrance writes
Sad scriptures on the haze.
Through all the darkling hours, from dusk to dawn,
Whose gloom no moonlight cleaves,
Into the tapestry of thought it weaves
The threads of things bygone.
In this sad season, when their deep
Is chequered with no star,
The endless nights to those who cannot sleep
As purging-places are:
All-nightly now the purgatorial hill
Of memory they climb,
To the faint rhythm of forgotten rhyme,
For light upstraining still.
Is chequered with no star,
The endless nights to those who cannot sleep
As purging-places are:
All-nightly now the purgatorial hill
Of memory they climb,
To the faint rhythm of forgotten rhyme,
For light upstraining still.
| Carol and Cadence | |