In drear-nighted December
-
John Keats
In 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;
Nor frozen thawings
glue them
From budding at the prime.
In drear-
nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy 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
Writhed not at 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.