With trembling fingers did we weave The holly round the Christmas hearth; A rainy cloud possess'd the earth, And sadly fell our Christmas-eve. At our old pastimes in the hall We gamboll'd, making vain pretence Of gladness, with an awful sense Of one mute Shadow watching all. We paused: the winds were in the beech; We heard them sweep the winter land; And in a circle hand-in-hand Sat silent, looking each at each. Then echo-like our voices rang; We sung, tho' every eye was dim, A merry song we sang with him Last year; impetuously we sang. We ceased; a gentler feeling crept Upon us: surely rest is meet. 'They rest,' we said, 'their sleep is sweet,' And silence follow'd, and we wept. Our voices took a higher range; Once more we sang: 'They do not die Nor lose their mortal sympathy, Nor change to us, although they change; 'Rapt from the fickle and the frail With gather'd power, yet the same, Pierces the keen seraphic flame From orb to orb, from veil to veil.' Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn, Draw forth the cheerful day from night: O Father, touch the east, and light The light that shone when Hope was born. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY: 9. MR. NIXON by EZRA POUND SHIRK OR WORK? by GRACE BORDELON AGATE EARTH TRIUMPHANT by CONRAD AIKEN THE HINT O' HAIRST by HEW AINSLIE THE DAUGHTER OF THE BLIND by ANNE M. F. ANNAN WHY PLAGUE ME, LOVES? by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS THE LAST MAN: SWEET TO DIE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 12 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |