Canto LXXXI

Dip down upon the northern shore,

      O sweet new-year delaying long;

      Thou doest expectant nature wrong,

Delaying long, delay no more.

What stays thee from the clouded noons,

      Thy sweetness from its proper place

      Can trouble live with April days,

Or sadness in the summer moons?

Bring orchis, bring the fox-glove spire,

      The little speedwell's darling blue,

      Deep tulips dasht with fiery dew,

Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire.

O thou, new-year, delaying long,

      Delayest the sorrow in my blood,

      That longs to burst a frozen bud,

And flood a fresher throat with song.