Desiring what is mingled with past years,

In yearnings that can never be exprest
By signs or groans or tears;

Because all words, tho' cull'd with choicest art,

Failing to give the bitter of the sweet, Wither beneath the palate, and the heart Faints, faded by its heat.

THE BLACKBIRD

First published in 1842, but written in 1833.

O BLACKBIRD! sing me something well:

While all the neighbors shoot thee round, I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground, Where thou mayst warble, eat, and dwell.

The espaliers and the standards all

Are thine; the range of lawn and park; The unnetted black-hearts ripen dark, All thine, against the garden wall.

Yet, tho' I spared thee all the spring,
Thy sole delight is, sitting still,
With that gold dagger of thy bill
To fret the summer jenneting.

A golden bill! the silver tongue,
Cold February loved, is dry;
Plenty corrupts the melody

That made thee famous once when young;

And in the sultry garden-squares,

Now thy flute- notes are changed to

coarse,

I hear thee not at all, or hoarse As when a hawker hawks his wares.

Take warning! he that will not sing

While yon sun prospers in the blue, Shall sing for want, ere leaves are new, Caught in the frozen palms of Spring.

THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR

Reprinted in 1842 from the volume of 1833.

FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow,

Toll
ye the church-bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.

Old year, you must not die;
You came to us so readily,
You lived with us so steadily,
Old year, you shall not die.

He lieth still, he doth not move;
He will not see the dawn of day.
He hath no other life above.
He gave me a friend, and a true true-love,
And the New-year will take 'em away.
Old year, you must not go;

So long as you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,
Old year, you shall not go.

He froth'd his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho' his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho' his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.

Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you,
I've half a mind to die with you,
Old year, if you must die.

He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er.
To see him die, across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he 'll be dead before.

Every one for his own.

The night is starry and cold, my friend,

And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,

Comes up to take his own.

How hard he breathes! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro;
The cricket chirps; the light burns low;
'Tis nearly twelve o'clock.

Shake hands, before you die.
Old year, we 'll dearly rue for you.
What is it we can do for you?
Speak out before you die.

His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone.

his chin;

Let Grief be her own mistress still.
She loveth her own anguish deep
More than much pleasure. Let her will
Be done to weep or not to weep.

I will not say, 'God's ordinance
Of death is blown in every wind;'
For that is not a common chance
That takes away a noble mind.

His memory long will live alone

In all our hearts, as mournful light That broods above the fallen sun,

And dwells in heaven half the night. Vain solace! Memory standing near

Cast down her eyes, and in her throat Her voice seem'd distant, and a tear Dropt on the letters as I wrote.