All, dropping swiftly, or settling slow, Dissolved in the dark and silent lake. Here delicate snow-stars, out of the cloud, All drowned in the dark and silent lake. And some, as on tender wings they glide Come clinging along their unsteady way; Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake. Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They fling themselves from their shadowy height. The fair, frail creatures of middle sky, What speed they make, with their grave so nigh; Flake after flake To lie in the dark and silent lake. I see in thy gentle eyes a tear; They turn to me in sorrowful thought; Thou thinkest of friends, the good and dear, Who were for a time, and now are not; Like these fair children of cloud and frost, That glisten a moment and then are lost,— Flake after flake,— All lost in the dark and silent lake. Midwinter Yet look again, for the clouds divide; A sunbeam falls from the opening skies; At rest in the dark and silent lake. 1349 William Cullen Bryant [1794-1878] MIDWINTER THE speckled sky is dim with snow, But cheerily the chickadee The snow sails round him as he sings, I watch the slow flakes as they fall On turf and curb and bower-roof The hooded beehive, small and low, All day it snows: the sheeted post The sumach and the wayside thorn, The ragged bramble, dwarfed and old, Still cheerily the chickadee Singeth to me on fence and tree: But in my inmost ear is heard And heavenly thoughts, as soft and white John Townsend Trowbridge [1827 A GLEE FOR WINTER HENCE, rude Winter! crabbed old fellow, Never merry, never mellow! Well-a-day! in rain and snow What will keep one's heart aglow? What will kill this dull old fellow? Ale that's bright, and wine that's mellow! The Death of the Old Year Dear old songs for ever new; Make sweet May of Winter weather. 1351 Alfred Domett [1811-1887] THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow, He lieth still, he doth not move; He hath no other life above, He gave me a friend, and a true true-love, Old year, you must not go; So long as you have been with us, He frothed his bumpers to the brim; Old year, you shall not die; We did so laugh and cry with you, I've half a mind to die with you, He was full of joke and jest, To see him die, across the waste Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the New-year, blithe and bold, my friend, Comes up to take his own. How hard he breathes! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The cricket chirps; the light burns low; Shake hands before you die. Old year, we'll dearly rue for you. His face is growing sharp and thin. Close up his eyes; tie up his chin; Step from the corpse, and let him in And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door. Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] DIRGE FOR THE YEAR ORPHAN hours, the year is dead, Merry hours, smile instead, For the year is but asleep. |