In drear-nighted December

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<poem> 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; Nor frozen thawings glue them

 From budding at the prime.

In a 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

 Writh’d not at passing joy?

The feel of not to feel it, Where there is none to heal it, Nor numbed sense to steal it,

 Was never said in rhyme.