In a drear-nighted October
Too happy, happy Tree
Thy branches ne'er remember
Their green felicity.
The north cannot undo them
With a sleety whistle through them
Nor frozen thawings glue them
From budding at the prime.
In a drear-nighted October
Too happy, happy Brook
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look.
But with a sweet forgetting
They stay their crystal fretting
Never, never petting
About the frozen time.
Ah! would 'twere so with many
A gentle girl and boy!
But were there ever any
Writh'd not at passéd joy?
To know the change and feel it,
When there is none to heal it,
Nor numbéd sense to steal it,
Was never said in rhyme.