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Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
Old year, you must not die;
You lived with us so steadily,
shall not die.
10 He lieth still : he doth not move:
He will not see the dawn of day.
year, you must not go;
year, you shall not go.
He froth'd his bumpers to the brim; 20 A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho’ his eyes are waxing dim,
Old year, you shall not die;
He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o’er. 30 To see him die, across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
Every one for his own.
How hard he breathes ! over the snow
The shadows flicker to and fro:
His face is growing sharp and thin.
Step from the corpse, and let him in 50 That standeth there alone,
And waiteth at the door.
CROSSING THE BAR.
Crossing the Bar was contained in the volume of 1889, Demeter and Other Poems. For a singer of eighty years to strike so truly lyrical a note, to show himself as eminently a poet as in his prime, was not the least of Tennyson's achievements. The verses were sung at the poet's funeral in Westminster Abbey. The last poem he wrote, with music by Lady Tennyson, was also a part of the service.
SUNSET and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
When I put out to sea, 3. Moaning of the bar. A familiar line in Charles Kingsley's 5 But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark !
When I embark;
For though from out our bourne of time and place
The flood may bear me far, 15 I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
poem, The Three Fishers, comes to mind, — " And the harbor bar be moaning.”