The
time admits not flowers or leaves
To deck the banquet. Fiercely flies
The blast of North and East, and ice
Makes
daggers at the sharpen’d eaves,
And
bristles all the brakes and thorns
To yon hard crescent, as she hangs
Above the wood which grides and clangs
Its
leafless ribs and iron horns
Together,
in the drifts that pass
To darken on the rolling brine
That breaks the coast. But fetch the wine,
Arrange
the board and brim the glass;
Bring
in great logs and let them lie,
To make a solid core of heat;
Be cheerful-minded, talk and treat
Of
all things ev’n as he were by;
We
keep the day. With festal cheer,
With books and music, surely we
Will drink to him, whate’er he be,
And
sing the songs he loved to hear.