Hoar Time about the house betakes him slow, <br />Seeking an entry for his weariness. <br />And in that dreadful company distress <br />And the sad night with silent footsteps go. <br />On my poor fire the brands are scarce aglow, <br />And in the woods without what memories press <br />Where, waning in the trees from less to less, <br />Mysterious bangs the hom6d moon and low. <br /> <br />For now December, full of aged care, <br />Comes in upon the yea and weakly grieves; <br />Mumbling his lost desires and his despair; . <br />And with mad trembling hand still interweaves, <br />The dank sear flower-stalks tangled in his hair, <br />While round about him whirl the rotten leaves.<br /><br />Hilaire Belloc<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/month-of-december/
