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 pa**ed 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.