The Masque Of The Months.

(For A Fresco.)     Firstly thou, churl son of Janus,     Rough for cold, in drugget clad,     Com'st with rack and rheum to pain us;--     Firstly thou, churl son of Janus.     Caverned now is old Sylvanus;     Numb and chill are maid and lad.     After thee thy dripping brother,     Dank his weeds around him cling;     Fogs his footsteps swathe and smother,--     After thee thy dripping brother.     Hearth-set couples hush each other,     Listening for the cry of Spring.     Hark! for March thereto doth follow,     Blithe,--a herald tabarded;     O'er him flies the shifting swallow,--     Hark! for March thereto doth follow.     Swift his horn, by holt and hollow,     Wakes the flowers in winter dead.     Thou then, April, Iris' daughter,     Born between the storm and sun;     Coy as nymph ere Pan hath caught her,--     Thou then, April, Iris' daughter.     Now are light, and rustling water;     Now are mirth, and nests begun.     May the jocund cometh after,     Month of all the Loves (and mine);     Month of mock and cuckoo-laughter,--     May the jocund cometh after.     Beaks are gay on roof and rafter;     Luckless lovers peak and pine.     June the next, with roses scented,     Languid from a slumber-spell;     June in shade of leafage tented;--     June the next, with roses scented.     Now her Itys, still lamented,     Sings the mournful Philomel.     Hot July thereafter rages,     Dog-star smitten, wild with heat;     Fierce as pard the hunter cages,--     Hot July thereafter rages.     Traffic now no more engages;     Tongues are still in stall and street.     August next, with cider mellow,     Laughs from out the poppied corn;     Hook at back, a lusty fellow,--     August next, with cider mellow.     Now in wains the sheafage yellow     'Twixt the hedges slow is borne.     Laden deep with fruity cluster,     Then September, ripe and hale;     Bees about his basket fluster,--     Laden deep with fruity cluster.     Skies have now a softer lustre;     Barns resound to flap of flail.     Thou then, too, of woodlands lover,     Dusk October, berry-stained;     Wailed about of parting plover,--     Thou then, too, of woodlands lover.     Fading now are copse and cover;     Forests now are sere and waned.     Next November, limping, battered,     Blinded in a whirl of leaf;     Worn of want and travel-tattered,--     Next November, limping, battered.     Now the goodly ships are shattered,     Far at sea, on rock and reef.     Last of all the shrunk December     Cowled for age, in ashen gray;     Fading like a fading ember,--     Last of all the shrunk December.     Him regarding, men remember     Life and joy must pass away.