Edward FitzGerald

Old Song

TIS a dull sight    
 To see the year dying,    
When winter winds    
 Set the yellow wood sighing:    
   Sighing, O sighing!            
 
When such a time cometh    
 I do retire    
Into an old room    
 Beside a bright fire:    
   O, pile a bright fire!    
 
And there I sit    
 Reading old things,    
Of knights and lorn damsels,    
 While the wind sings—    
   O, drearily sings!
 
I never look out    
 Nor attend to the blast;    
For all to be seen    
 Is the leaves falling fast:    
   Falling, falling!  
 
But close at the hearth,    
 Like a cricket, sit I,    
Reading of summer    
 And chivalry—    
   Gallant chivalry!    
 
Then with an old friend    
 I talk of our youth—    
How ‘twas gladsome, but often    
 Foolish, forsooth:    
   But gladsome, gladsome!  
 
Or, to get merry,    
 We sing some old rhyme    
That made the wood ring again    
 In summer time—    
   Sweet summer time!    
 
Then go we smoking,    
 Silent and snug:    
Naught passes between us,    
 Save a brown jug—    
   Sometimes!    
 
And sometimes a tear    
 Will rise in each eye,    
Seeing the two old friends    
 So merrily—    
   So merrily!    
 
And ere to bed    
 Go we, go we,    
Down on the ashes    
 We kneel on the knee,    
   Praying together!    
 
Thus, then, live I    
 Till, ’mid all the gloom,    
By Heaven! the bold sun    
 Is with me in the room    
   Shining, shining!    
 
Then the clouds part,    
 Swallows soaring between;    
The spring is alive,    
 And the meadows are green!    
 
I jump up like mad,    
 Break the old pipe in twain,    
And away to the meadows,    
 The meadows again!
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