December by John Payne

Lyrics

The roofs are dreary with the drifted rime And in the air a stillness as of death Th'approach of some portentousness foresaith December comes, the tyrant of the time Vaunt-courier of the cold hybernal clime Mute is the world for misery; no breath Nor stir of sound there is, that welcometh The coming of the Winter's woeful prime "Alack! Was ever such a thing as Spring?" We say, hand-holding to the hearths of Yulе "Did ever roses blow or throstlеs sing?" And in our ears the wild blast shrilleth, "Fool That, in this world of ruin and decay Thy heart's hopes buildest on the Summer day!"