| Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900. |
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| Frederick Tennyson. 1807–1898 |
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| 688. The Holy Tide |
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| THE days are sad, it is the Holy tide: | |
| The Winter morn is short, the Night is long; | |
| So let the lifeless Hours be glorified | |
| With deathless thoughts and echo'd in sweet song: | |
| And through the sunset of this purple cup | 5 |
| They will resume the roses of their prime, | |
| And the old Dead will hear us and wake up, | |
| Pass with dim smiles and make our hearts sublime! | |
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| The days are sad, it is the Holy tide: | |
| Be dusky mistletoes and hollies strown, | 10 |
| Sharp as the spear that pierced His sacred side, | |
| Red as the drops upon His thorny crown; | |
| No haggard Passion and no lawless Mirth | |
| Fright off the solemn Muse,—tell sweet old tales, | |
| Sing songs as we sit brooding o'er the hearth, | 15 |
| Till the lamp flickers, and the memory fails. | |
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