HERE, it is here, the close of the year, And with it a spiteful letter. My name in song has done him much wrong, For himself has done much better. O little bard, is your lot so hard, If men neglect your pages? I think not much of yours or of mine, I hear the roll of the ages. Rhymes and rhymes in the range of the times! Are mine for the moment stronger? Yet hate me not, but abide your lot; I last but a moment longer. This faded leaf, our names are as brief; What room is left for a hater? Yet the yellow leaf hates the greener leaf, For it hangs one moment later. Greater than I -- is that your cry? And men will live to see it. Well -- if it be so -- so it is, you know; And if it be so, so be it. Brief, brief is a summer leaf, But this is the time of hollies. O hollies and ivies and evergreens, How I hate the spites and the follies! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADONAIS; AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KEATS by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY A COUNTRY NOSEGAY by ALFRED AUSTIN SEPTEMBER by MAVIS CLARE BARNETT POSTHUMOUS REMORSE by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 48. FAREWELL TO JULIET (10) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT TO THE PRESIDENT OF MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES HOME, SWEET HOME WITH VARIATIONS: 3. FRANCIS BRET HARTE by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER BALLAD TO THE TUNE - 'I'LL TELL THEE, DICK, THAT I HAVE BEEN' by PATRICK CAREY |