Page:In memoriam (IA inmemoriam00tennrich).pdf/180



holly by the cottage-eave, To night, ungather'd, shall it stand: We live within the stranger's land, And strangely falls our Christmas eve.

Our father's dust is left alone And silent under other snows: There in due time the woodbine blows, The violet comes, but we are gone.

No more shall wayward grief abuse The genial hour with mask and mime; For change of place, like growth of time, Has broke the bond of dying use.

Let cares that petty shadows cast, By which our lives are chiefly proved, A little spare the night I loved, And hold it solemn to the past.