XVIII. The Calendar. THE OPENING YEAR. JANUARY. RPHAN hours, the year is dead, Come and sigh, come and weep! Merry hours smile instead, For the year is but asleep. As an earthquake rocks a corse Solemn hours! wail aloud For your mother in her shroud. As the wild air stirs and sways Sweet flower! that peeping from thy russet stem. This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering month SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE, 1770-1849. FEBRUARY. Dip down upon the northern shore, What stays thee from the clouded noons, Bring orchis bring the fox-glove spire, O thou new year, delaying long, ALFRED TENNYSON. MARCH. The stormy March is come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast, Ah, passing few are they who speak, For thou to northern lands again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentler train, And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. And in thy reign of blast and storm Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, When the changed winds are soft and warm, And heaven puts on the blue of May. Then sing aloud the gushing rills, And the full springs, from frost set free, That, brightly leaping down the hills, Are just set out to meet the sea. The year's departing beauty hides Of wintry storms the sullen threat; But in thy sternest form abides A look of kindly promise yet. Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies, W. C. BRYANT. |