Wild was the day; the wintry sea Moaned sadly on New Englands strand, When first the thoughtful and the free, Our fathers, trod the desert land. BryantThe Twenty-second of December.
December drops no weak, relenting tear, By our fond Summer sympathies ensnared, Nor from the perfect circle of the year Can even Winters crystal gems be spared. C. P. CranchDecember.
Shout now! The months with loud acclaim, Take up the cry and send it forth; May breathing sweet her Spring perfumes, November thundering from the North. With hands upraised, as with one voice, They join their notes in grand accord; Hail to December! say they all, It gave to Earth our Christ the Lord! J. K. HoytThe Meeting of the Months.
In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, Thy bubblings neer remember Apollos summer look; But with a sweet forgetting, They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time KeatsStanzas.
When we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December, how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away? Cymbeline. Act III. Sc. 3. L. 36.
The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon. WhittierSnow-Bound.