drear december

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne’er remember
Their green felicity:
The north cannot undo them
With a sleety whistle through them;
From budding at the prime.

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
They bubblings ne’er remember
Apollo’s summer look;
But with a sweet forgetting,
They stay their crystal fretting,
Never, never petting
About the frozen time.

Ah! Would ‘twere so with many
A gentle girl and boy!
But were there ever any
Writh’d not a passed joy?
“The feel of not to feel it,”
When there is none to heal it
Nor numbed sense to steel it,
Was never said in rhyme.