Paul Hamilton Hayne (Пол Гамильтон Хейн)

* * *

NOW, while the rear-guard of the flying year,
Rugged December on the season's verge
Marshals his pale days to the mournful dirge
Of muffled winds in far-off forests drear,
Good friend! turn with me to our in-door cheer;
Draw nigh; the huge flames roar upon the hearth,
And this sly sparkler is of subtlest birth,
And a rich vintage, poet souls hold dear;
Mark how the sweet rogue wooes us! Sit thee down,
And we will quaff, and quaff, and drink our fill,
Topping the spirits with a Bacchanal crown,
Till the funereal blast shall wail no more,
But silver-throated clarions seem to thrill,
And shouts of triumph peal along the shore.

1. Blanche and Nell
2. Along the Path Thy Bleeding Feet Have Trod
3. Between the Sunken Sun and the New Moon
4. “The Old Man of the Sea”
5. Pent in This Common Sphere of Sensual Shows

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