Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
Upon New Years EveSir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch (18631944)
N
Their tears upon the thorn,
And earth has voices few,
And those forlorn.
When maidens sand the porch
And play at Jack ’s Alight
With burning torch,
While ashen faggots blaze,
And late wassailers sing
In miry ways.
To bid the New Year hail
And welcome—plough, drill, scythe,
And jolly flail.
Of winter from his head,
To settle, flake by flake,
On ours instead;
Beyond his blight or chill,
Who kiss’d at seventeen,
And worship still.
But this we know to-night—
He doth prepare the Spring
For our delight.
With blossoms, balms, and bees,
With brooks, and odorous
Wild breath o’ the breeze.
With sweets thy bosom fill
And dance it, dripping thyme,
On Lantick hill.
Our garden blade from blade—
We, in our little home,
Sit unafraid.