The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, 



As a sick man's room when he taketh repose 



An hour before death ; 

 My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves 

 At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves. 



And the breath 



Of the fading edges of box beneath, 

 And the year's last rose. 



Heavily hangs the broad sunflower 

 Over its grave i' the earth so chilly ; 



Heavily hangs the hollyhock, 

 Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. 



D 



CANDLEMAS EVE 



OWN with the rosemary and bays, 

 Down with the mistletoe ; 



Instead of holly, now upraise 

 The greener box, for show. 



The holly hitherto did sway ; 



Let box now domineer 

 Until the dancing Easter Day 



Or Easter's eve appear. 



Then youthful box, which now hath grace 



Your houses to renew, 

 Grown old, surrender must his place 



Unto the crisped yew. 

 80 



