The Passing of the Year / Robert Service

The Passing of the Year

My glass is filled, my pipe is lit,
     My den is all a cosy glow;
And snug before the fire I sit,
     And wait to feel the old year go.
I dedicate to solemn thought
     Amid my too-unthinking days,
This sober moment, sadly fraught
     With much of blame, with little praise.

Old Year! upon the Stage of Time
     You stand to bow your last adieu;
A moment, and the prompter's chime
     Will ring the curtain down on you.
Your mien is sad, your step is slow;
     You falter as a Sage in pain;
Yet turn, Old Year, before you go,
     And face your audience again.

That sphinx-like face, remote, austere,
     Let us all read, whate'er the cost:
O Maiden! why that bitter tear?
     Is it for dear ones you have lost?
Is it for fond illusion gone?
     For trusted lover proved untrue?
O sweet girl-face, so sad, so wan
     What hath the Old Year meant to you?

And you, O neighbour on my right
     So sleek, so prosperously clad!
What see you in that aged wight
     That makes your smile so gay and glad?
What opportunity unmissed?
     What golden gain, what pride of place?
What splendid hope? O Optimist!
     What read you in that withered face?

And You, deep shrinking in the gloom,
     What find you in that filmy gaze?
What menace of a tragic doom?
     What dark, condemning yesterdays?
What urge to crime, what evil done?
     What cold, confronting shape of fear?
O haggard, haunted, hidden One
     What see you in the dying year?

And so from face to face I flit,
     The countless eyes that stare and stare;
Some are with approbation lit,
     And some are shadowed with despair.
Some show a smile and some a frown;
     Some joy and hope, some pain and woe:
Enough! Oh, ring the curtain down!
     Old weary year! it's time to go.

My pipe is out, my glass is dry;
     My fire is almost ashes too;
But once again, before you go,
     And I prepare to meet the New:
Old Year! a parting word that's true,
     For we've been comrades, you and I –
I thank God for each day of you;
     There! bless you now! Old Year, good-bye!

~~ 
Robert Service (1874-1958)
from Rhymes of a Rolling Stone, 1912

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Robert Service biography

Under the Holly Bough / Charles Mackay

Under the Holly Bough

Ye who have scorned each other,
Or injured friend or brother,
     In this fast-fading year;
Ye who, by word or deed,
Have made a kind heart bleed,
     Come gather here!

Let sinned against and sinning
Forget their strife's beginning,
     And join in friendship now.
Be links no longer broken,
Be sweet forgiveness spoken
     Under the Holly-Bough.

Ye who have loved each other,
Sister and friend and brother,
    In this fast-fading year:
Mother and sire and child,
Young man and maiden mild,
    Come gather here;

And let your heart grow fonder,
As memory shall ponder
    Each past unbroken vow;
Old loves and younger wooing
Are sweet in the renewing
     Under the Holly-Bough.

Ye who have nourished sadness,
Estranged from hope and gladness
     In this fast-fading year;
Ye with o'erburdened mind,
Made aliens from your kind,
     Come gather here.

Let not the useless sorrow
Pursue you night and morrow,
     If e'er you hoped, hope now.
Take heart,— uncloud your faces,
And join in our embraces
     Under the Holly-Bough.

~~
Charles Mackay (1814-1889)
from Christmas with the Poets, 1881

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Towson High Music, "Under the Holly Bough"

Charles Mackay biography

A Christmas Carol / J. Ashby-Sterry

A Christmas Carol

'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe,
     When holly-berries glisten bright;
When Christmas fires gleam and glow
When wintry winds so wildly blow,
     And all the meadows round are white —
'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!

How happy then are Fan and Flo,
     With eyes a-sparkle with delight!
When Christmas fires gleam and glow,
When dainty dimples come and go,
     And maidens shrink with feignëd fright —
'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!

A privilege 'tis then, you know,
     To exercise time-honoured rite;
When Christmas fires gleam and glow
When loving lips may pout, although
    With other lips they oft unite —
'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!

If Florry then should whisper "No!"
     Such whispers should be stifled quite,
When Christmas fires gleam and glow;
If Fanny's coy objecting "O!"
     Be strangled by a rare foresight —
'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!

When rosy lips, like Cupid's bow,
     Assault provokingly invite,
When Christmas fires gleam and glow,
When slowly falls the sullen snow,
     And dull is drear December night —
'Tis merry 'neath the mistletoe!

~~

J. Ashby-Sterry (1836-1917)

from The Lazy Minstrel, 1886

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

J. Ashby-Sterry biography

Christmas Bells / Edward Capern

Christmas Bells

Ring out ye merry bells, welcome bright icicles,
Welcome old holly-crowned Christmas again,
Blythe as a child at play, keeping his holiday.
Welcome him in from the snow peak and plain.
Up with the holly bough, green from the winter’s brow;
Lock up your ledgers and cares for a day,
Out to the forest go, gather the mistletoe,
Old and young, rich and poor, up and away.

Up with the holly bough, ay and the laurel now,
In with the yule log and brighten the hearth.
Quick, he is here again, come with his joyous train:
Laughter and music and friendship and mirth.
Up with your holly boughs, high in each manor house,
Garnish the antlers that hang in the hall;
Yes, and the neck of corn with a gay wreath adorn,
Rich as the bloom on the cottager’s wall.

Wealth has its duties now, Christians you will allow;
Think then ye rich whilst your tables are spread?
Think of those wretched ones, poverty’s stricken sons,
Weeping whilst children are asking for bread.
Ring out ye merry bells, ring till your music swells,
Out o’er the mountain, and far on the main.
Ring till those cheerless ones catch up your merry tones,
Singing come Christmas again and again.

~~
Edward Capern (1819-1894)

from The Devonshire Melodist, 1861

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Edward Capern biography

"Christmas Bells" performed by Nick Wyke and Becki Driscoll. Courtesy Halsway Manor.

The time draws near the birth of Christ / Alfred Tennyson

XXVIII

The time draws near the birth of Christ:
     The moon is hid; the night is still;
     The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.

Four voices of four hamlets round,
     From far and near, on mead and moor,
     Swell out and fail, as if a door
Were shut between me and the sound:

Each voice four changes on the wind,
     That now dilate, and now decrease,
     Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace,
Peace and goodwill, to all mankind.

This year I slept and woke with pain,
     I almost wish'd no more to wake,
     And that my hold on life would break
Before I heard those bells again:

But they my troubled spirit rule,
     For they controll'd me when a boy;
     They bring me sorrow touch'd with joy,
The merry merry bells of Yule,

~~
Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)
from In Memoriam A.H.H., 1850

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Alfred Tennyson biography

On the Winter Solstice / Mark Akenside

Ode II. On the Winter Solstice,  MD.CC.XL

The radiant ruler of the year
At length his wintry goal attains,
Soon to reverse the long career,
And northward bend his golden reins.
Prone on Potosi's haughty brow
His fiery streams incessant flow,
Prone rush the fiery floods of light
Ripening the silver's ductile stores;
While, in the cavern's horrid shade,
The panting Indian hides his head,
And oft th'approach of eve implores.

But lo, on this deserted coast
How pale the light! how thick the air!
Lo, armed with whirlwind, hail, and frost,
Fierce winter desolates the year.
The fields resign their cheerful bloom;
No more the breezes waft perfume,
No more the warbling waters roll:
Deserts of snow fatigue the eye,
Black storms involve the louring sky,
And gloomy damps oppress the soul.

Now through the town promisuous throngs
Urge the warm bowl and ruddy fire:
Harmonious dances, festive songs
To charm the midnight hours conspire.
While mute and shrinking with her fears,
Each blast the cottage-martron hears,
As o'er the hearth she sits alone:
At morn her bridgroom went abroad,
The night is dark and deep the road;
She sighs and wishes him at home.

But thou, my lyre, awake, arise,
And hail the sun's remotest ray:
Now, now he climbs the northern skies,
To-morrow nearer than today.
Then louder howl the stormy waste,
Be land and ocean worse defac'd,
Yet brighter hours are on the wing;
And fancy thro' the wintry glooms,
All fresh with dews and opening blooms,
Already hails th' emerging spring.

O fountain of the golden day!
Could mortal vows but urge thy speed,
How soon before thy vernal ray
Should each unkindly damp recede!
How soon each hovering tempest fly,
that now fermenting loads the sky,
Prompt on our heads to burst amain,
To rend the forest from the steep,
Or thundering o'er the Baltic deep,
To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain!

But let not man's unequal views
Presume on nature and her laws:
'Tis his with grateful joy to use
Th' indulgence of the sov'reign cause;
Secure that health and beauty springs
Thro' this majestic frame of things,
Beyond what he can reach to know,
And that heav'n's all-subduing will,
With good the progeny of ill,
Attempers every state below.

How pleasing wears the wintry night,
Spent with the old illustrious dead!
While, by the taper's trembling light,
I seem those awful courts to tread
Where chiefs or legislators lie,
Whose triumphs move before my eye
With every laurel fresh-displayed;
While now I taste th' Ionian song,
Or bend to Plato's godlike tongue
Resounding through the olive shade.

But if the gay, well-natur'd friend
Bids leave the studious page awhile,
Then easier joys the foul unbend
And teach the brow a softer smile;
Then while the genial flass is paid
By each to her, that faires maid,
Whose radiant eyes his hopes obey,
What lucky vows his bosom warm!
While absence heightens every charm,
And love invokes returning May!

May! thou delight of heav'n and earth,
When will thy happy morn arise
When the dear place which gives her birth
Restore LUCINDA to my eyes?
There while she walks the wonted grove,
The seat of music and of love,
Bright as the one primeval fair,
Thither, ye silver-sounding lyres,
Thither, gay smiles and young desires,
Chast hope and mutual faith repair.

And if believing love can read
The wonted fortunes in her eye,
Then shall my fears, O charming maid,
And every pain of absence die:
Then ofter to thy name attun'd,
And rising to diviner sound,
I'll wake the free Horatian song:
Old Tyne shall listen to my tale,
And Echo, down the bordering vale,
The liquid melody prolong.

~~
Mark Akenside (1720-1773)
from Odes on Several Subjects, 1745

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Mark Akenside biography

Autumn: An ode / John Hawkesworth

Autumn: An Ode

Alas! with swift and silent pace
Impatient Time rolls on the year,
The Seasons change, and Nature's face
Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe.

'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay,
Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow,
The flowers of Spring are swept away,
And Summer fruits desert the bough.

The verdant leaves that play'd on high,
And wanton'd on the western breeze,
Now trod in dust, neglected lie,
As Boreas strips the bending trees.

The fields that wav'd with golden grain,
As russet heaths are wild and bare;
Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain;
Nor Health, nor Pleasure, wanders there.

No more, while thro' the midnight shade,
Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray,
Soft pleasing woes my heart invade,
As Progne pours the melting lay.

From this capricious clime she soars,
O! would some God but wings supply!
To where each morn the Spring restores,
Companion of her flight I'd fly.

Vain wish! me Fate compels to bear
The downward Season's iron reign,
Compels to breathe polluted air,
And shiver on a blasted plain.

What bliss to life can Autumn yield,
If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail,
And Ceres flies the naked field,
And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail?

Oh! what remains, what lingers yet
To cheer me in the darkening hour?
The Grape remains! the friend of Wit,
In Love and Mirth of mighty power.

Haste, press the clusters, fill the bowl —
Apollo! shoot thy parting ray;
This gives the sunshine of the soul,
This, God of Health, and Verse, and Day.

Still, still, the jocund strain shall flow,
The pulse with vigorous rapture beat;
My STELLA with new charms shall glow,
And every bliss in wine shall meet.

 

~~

John Hawkesworth (1720-1773)

from A Collection of Poems in Four volumes; by several hands, 1770

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

John Hawkesworth biography

Autumn Fires / Robert Louis Stevenson

Autumn Fires

In the other gardens
     And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
     See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over
      And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
     The grey smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons!
     Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
     Fires in the fall!

~~
Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)
from A Child's Garden of Verses, 1885

[Poem is in the public domain]

Robert Louis Stevenson biography

Naked December have I curtained out/ Charles Leonard Moore

I

Naked December have I curtained out,
Its cobweb branches crossing the cold sky;
Dead am I to the hurrying flakes about,
Dead and close-tombed in Eastern luxury:
But not the fire's rich rapture with itself,
The carpet's glow, the painted air above,
The gleam of rich-clad volumes from the shelf,
The stained chessman or yon shadowy glove,
The mantel's romance of bronze-mailed knights,
The sometime showing fresco pastoral,
The curtains closing me with these delights
Deep, deep, unfathomably out of call,
     Not these, but dreams and reveries allowed
     Make me o'er all Time's empty triumphs proud. 

~~
Charles Leonard Moore (1854-1928)
from Book of Day-Dreams, 1888

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Charles Leonard Moore biography

Connecticut Autumn / Hyam Plutzik

Connecticut Autumn

I have seen the pageantry of the leaves falling —
Their sere, brown frames descending brokenly,
Like old men lying down to rest.
I have heard the whisperings of the winds calling —
The young winds — playing with the old men —
Playing with them, as the sun flows west.

And I have seen the pomp of this earth naked —
The brown fields standing cold and resolute,
Like strong men waiting for the end.
Then have come the sudden gusts of winds awaked:
The broken pageantry, the leaves upflailed, the trees
Tremor-stricken, the giant branches rent.

And a shiver runs over the remnants of the brown grass —
And there is cessation . . . .
The processional recurs.

I have seen the pageantry.
I have seen the haggard leaves falling.
One by one falling.

~~
Hyam Plutzik (1911-1962)
from Aspects of Proteus, 1949

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada. Elsewhere, this poem by Hyam Plutzik may be duplicated for educational purposes. Copyright 2016 by Estate of Hyam Plutzik, all rights reserved.]

Hyam Plutzik biography

The Autumn Sheaf / Elizabeth Drew Stoddard

The Autumn Sheaf

Still I remember only autumn days,
When golden leaves were floating in the air,
And reddening oaks stood sombre in the haze,
Till sunset struck them with its redder glare,

And faded, leaving me by wood and field
In fragrant dew, and fragrant velvet mould,
To wait among the shades of night concealed,
And learn that story which but once is told.

Through many seasons of the falling leaves
I watched my failing hopes, and watched their fall;
In memory they are gathered now like sheaves,
So withered that a touch would scatter all.

Dead leaves, and dust more dead, to fall apart,
Leaves spreading once in arches over me,
And dust enclosing once a loving heart,
Still I am happy with youth's mystery.

It cannot be unbound,— my autumn sheaf;
So let it stand, the ruin of my past;
Returning autumn brings the old belief,
Its mystery all its own, and it will last.

~~
Elizabeth Drew Stoddard (1823-1902)
from Poems, 1895

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Elizabeth Drew Stoddard biography

Penny's Top 20 / November 2020

Penny's Top 20

The most-visited poems on  The Penny Blog in November 2020:

  1.  The World's Body, AE Reiff

  2.  Esthetique du Mal, Wallace Stevens

  3.  Believe It or Not, George J. Dance

  4.  Digging, Edward Thomas

  5.  Autumn It Was, William Browne
  6.  Who Made the Law?, Leslie Coulson
  7.  November, Ethelwyn Wetherald

  8.  Goldenrod, John Banister Tabb
  9.  Once Like a Light, AE Reiff
10.  November Blue, Alice Meynell

11.  Last Week in October, Thomas Hardy
12.  To Himself in Autumn, Maurice Lesemann
13.  September in the Laurentian Hills, William Wilfred Campbell
14.  On the Beach in November, Edward Cracroft Lefroy
15.  Expecting Inspiration, George Sulzbach
16.  The Key, George J. Dance
17.  Spleen, Hector de Saint-Denys Garneau

18.  The Bright Extensive Will, AE Reiff
19.  January, Robert Bridges

20. Poem with Rhythms, Wallace Stevens

Source: Blogger, "Stats"