Verse > Anthologies > Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. > The Oxford Book of English Verse
Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Frederick Tennyson. 1807–1898
688. The Holy Tide
THE days are sad, it is the Holy tide: 
  The Winter morn is short, the Night is long; 
So let the lifeless Hours be glorified 
  With deathless thoughts and echo'd in sweet song: 
And through the sunset of this purple cup         5
  They will resume the roses of their prime, 
And the old Dead will hear us and wake up, 
  Pass with dim smiles and make our hearts sublime! 
The days are sad, it is the Holy tide: 
  Be dusky mistletoes and hollies strown,  10
Sharp as the spear that pierced His sacred side, 
  Red as the drops upon His thorny crown; 
No haggard Passion and no lawless Mirth 
  Fright off the solemn Muse,—tell sweet old tales, 
Sing songs as we sit brooding o'er the hearth,  15
  Till the lamp flickers, and the memory fails. 
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