Winter Holly.
O wasted bank, O dark, brave holly trees !1
Ye whom I loved in seasons long gone by,2
Loved, as a child may love—not asking why ;3
Loved, ere I knew that chilly blows the breeze4
At sunset, or that unstirred waters freeze.5
How ignorant, how happy then was I.6
Ye too have suffered your mid-winter snow,7
Your roots all naked to the biting air.8
Are these the berried boughs I used to know
?9
Is this the burnished green you used to wear ?10
Perhaps it is, but then it showed more fair,11
Or else my gladder eyes did make it so.12