Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.

Richard Garnett 1835–1906



I WILL not rail, or grieve when torpid eld

Frosts the slow-journeying blood, for I shall see

The lovelier leaves hang yellow on the tree,

The nimbler brooks in icy fetters held.

Methinks the aged eye, that first beheld

The fitful ravage of December wild,

Then knew himself indeed dear Nature’s child,

Seeing the common doom, that all compell’d.

No kindred we to her beloved broods,

If, dying these, we drew a selfish breath;

But one path travel all her multitudes,

And none dispute the solemn Voice that saith:

“Sun, to thy setting; to your autumn, woods;

Stream, to thy sea; and man, unto thy death!”