He feels from Juda's land The dreaded infant's hand, The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Not all the gods beside, Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damnèd crew.
So, when the sun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to th' infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted Fayes Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.
But see the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending; Heav'n's youngest teemèd star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd Angels sit in order serviceable.
In a 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 a 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 Writh'd not at passèd joy? To know the change and feel it, When there is none to heal it, Nor numbèd sense to steal it, Was never said in rhyme.
'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, And the owls have awakened the crowing cock! Tu--whit!--Tu--whoo! And hark, again! the crowing cock, How drowsily it crew.
Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff bitch From her kennel beneath the rock Maketh answer to the clock, Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour; Ever and aye, by shine and shower, Sixteen short howls, not over loud: Some say, she sees my lady's shroud.
Is the night chilly and dark? The night is chilly, but not dark. The thin gray cloud is spread on high, It covers but not hides the sky. The moon is behind, and at the full; And yet she looks both small and dull. The night is chill, the cloud is gray: 'Tis a month before the month of May, And the Spring comes slowly up this way.
