 | Quo Musa Tendis? |  |
33
The Dawn of the Year.
Once in the year, if you get up early,
You may get—just once—what you can't but praise:
Not a sky that's blue, or a lawn that's pearly,
Though these may be there as on other days:
But a bright cool still delicious thrill,
Which tells you October is come or near:—
The Dawn of the Year!
You may get—just once—what you can't but praise:
Not a sky that's blue, or a lawn that's pearly,
Though these may be there as on other days:
But a bright cool still delicious thrill,
Which tells you October is come or near:—
The Dawn of the Year!
For I take it the end of the Long Vacation
Which repeoples the Temple and Lincoln's Inn,
And quickens the pulse of civilisation,
And ends the hush of our daily din,
Is really the season, by light of reason,
Which ought to and does to the wise appear
The Dawn of the Year.
Which repeoples the Temple and Lincoln's Inn,
And quickens the pulse of civilisation,
And ends the hush of our daily din,
Is really the season, by light of reason,
Which ought to and does to the wise appear
The Dawn of the Year.
Years die in July and are dead till September:
By the first of October the New Year's born:
It's a sturdy infant in mid December,
And reaches its prime some April morn:
Hot and weary in June, it must perish soon,
It is working too hard: it will break: but here
Is the Dawn of the Year.
By the first of October the New Year's born:
It's a sturdy infant in mid December,
And reaches its prime some April morn:
Hot and weary in June, it must perish soon,
It is working too hard: it will break: but here
Is the Dawn of the Year.
34
And this is the time for good resolutions:
He's a laggard who waits till Christmas past:
In obedience to meaningless institutions
He starts on a year which can but last
Six months or so: while we, who know,
Find in golden autumn, not winter drear,
The Dawn of the Year.
He's a laggard who waits till Christmas past:
In obedience to meaningless institutions
He starts on a year which can but last
Six months or so: while we, who know,
Find in golden autumn, not winter drear,
The Dawn of the Year.
You surely remember the feeling I mean?
It's a misty morning, portending heat:
Scarce a leaf has fallen, the trees are green,
And the last late flowers are bright and sweet,
By the sight and scent summer's not yet spent,
But there's something new in the atmosphere
The Dawn of the Year.
It's a misty morning, portending heat:
Scarce a leaf has fallen, the trees are green,
And the last late flowers are bright and sweet,
By the sight and scent summer's not yet spent,
But there's something new in the atmosphere
The Dawn of the Year.
Just a touch of healthy autumnal cold,
Not the dismal shiver of rainy summers;
And a sun no longer a blaze of gold
To light the frolic of idle mummers,
But a genial guide for the busy tide
Of men who have work to do, shows clear
The Dawn of the Year.
Not the dismal shiver of rainy summers;
And a sun no longer a blaze of gold
To light the frolic of idle mummers,
But a genial guide for the busy tide
Of men who have work to do, shows clear
The Dawn of the Year.
So back to work in the London streets,
Or College courts, or clamorous Schools;
We have tasted and dwelt on the passing sweets
Of sunlit leisure: resume your tools,
Get back to your labours, my excellent neighbours,
And greet with a spirit that work can cheer,
The Dawn of the Year.
Or College courts, or clamorous Schools;
We have tasted and dwelt on the passing sweets
Of sunlit leisure: resume your tools,
Get back to your labours, my excellent neighbours,
And greet with a spirit that work can cheer,
The Dawn of the Year.
| Quo Musa Tendis? | |