Alfred Lord Tennyson (
1809-
1892)
Dip down upon the
northern shore,
O sweet new-year delaying long;
Thou doest expectant
nature wrong;
Delaying long, delay no more.
What stays thee from the clouded noons,
Thy sweetness from its proper place?
Can trouble live with
April days,
Or sadness in the summer moons?
Bring
orchis, bring the
foxglove spire,
The little
speedwell’s darling blue,
Deep
tulips dash’d with fiery dew,
Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire.
O thou, new-year, delaying long,
Delayest the
sorrow in my
blood,
That longs to burst a frozen
bud
And flood a fresher throat with
song.