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January Poems

Table of Contents

  1. January by Ruby Archer
  2. January by Rebecca Hey
  3. I'm January by Annette Wynne
  4. If It Were January All the Year by Annette Wynne
  5. A Calendar of Sonnets: January by Helen Hunt Jackson
  6. Ode Written On The First Of January by Robert Southey

  1. January

    by Ruby Archer

    The snow is diamond for a fairy's feet,
    Blithely and bonnily she trips along,
    Her lips a-carol with a merry song,
    And in her eyes the meaning. "Life is sweet!"
    The rhythm of youth is in her pulses' beat,
    The lissome form is beautiful and strong,
    The happy heart is innocent of wrong.
    Young Hope incarnate seems the earth to greet,
    How fair is she—just pinker than the snow.
    Behold—a roguish coyness in her face!
    Ah see—a spray of saucy mistletoe
    Is nestling in her hair. A chase! A chase!
    A gleeful laugh,—the vision bright has paled,
    Is lost in clouds her laughing breath exhaled.

  2. January

    by Rebecca Hey

    Keen blows the bitter spirit of the North,
    And, like a warrior foil'd, with powerless beam
    The sun eyes wistfully the frost-bound stream,
    As if he long'd, though vainly, to call forth
    His by-gone strength, that he might deck the earth
    In all her summer beauty, and set free
    River and brooklet, till, towards the sea
    Onward they bounded with melodious mirth.
    But many a storm, ere that may be, shall blow,
    And many a cloud frown darkling o'er the sky;
    And be it so, if but affection's glow
    Play round the lips, and brighten in the eye,
    When round the hearth long-sever'd friends do meet,
    (So ancient usage claims,) the opening to greet.

  3. I'm January

    by Annette Wynne

    I'm January bringing you
    A year of days—all brand, brand new;
    I step upon the frosty ground.
    When chimes and sleighbells ring around;
    You welcome me and children sing,
    And joy comes into everything.
    I bring you love and lots of cheer,
    And work and friends for all the year.

  4. If It Were January All the Year

    by Annette Wynne

    If it were January all the year,
    I wonder if I'd like it here,
    Finding every place I go—
    Snow, snow, always snow!

    Snow upon the lane and street,
    Snow wherever children meet,
    And the houses made of snow,
    And the school where children go.

    Do you think I'd grow to be
    A child quite different from me,
    Who'd never seen a thing but snow?
    Would I be an Eskimo?

  5. A Calendar of Sonnets: January

    by Helen Hunt Jackson

    O Winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire,
    What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn
    Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn
    Of death! Far sooner in midsummer tire
    The streams than under ice. June could not hire
    Her roses to forego the strength they learn
    In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn
    The bridges thou dost lay where men desire
    In vain to build. O Heart, when Love's sun goes
    To northward, and the sounds of singing cease,
    Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace.
    Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose.
    Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows,
    The winter is the winter's own release.

  6. Ode Written On The First Of January

    by Robert Southey

    Come melancholy Moralizer—come!
    Gather with me the dark and wintry wreath;
    With me engarland now

    Come Moralizer to the funeral song!
    I pour the dirge of the Departed Days,
    For well the funeral song
    Befits this solemn hour.

    But hark! even now the merry bells ring round
    With clamorous joy to welcome in this day,
    This consecrated day,
    To Mirth and Indolence.

    Mortal! whilst Fortune with benignant hand
    Fills to the brim thy cup of happiness,
    Whilst her unclouded sun
    Illumes thy summer day,

    Canst thou rejoice—rejoice that Time flies fast?
    That Night shall shadow soon thy summer sun?
    That swift the stream of Years
    Rolls to Eternity?

    If thou hast wealth to gratify each wish,
    If Power be thine, remember what thou art—
    Remember thou art Man,
    And Death thine heritage!

    Hast thou known Love? does Beauty's better sun
    Cheer thy fond heart with no capricious smile,
    Her eye all eloquence,
    Her voice all harmony?

    Oh state of happiness! hark how the gale
    Moans deep and hollow o'er the leafless grove!
    Winter is dark and cold—
    Where now the charms of Spring?

    Sayst thou that Fancy paints the future scene
    In hues too sombrous? that the dark-stol'd Maid
    With stern and frowning front
    Appals the shuddering soul?

    And would'st thou bid me court her faery form
    When, as she sports her in some happier mood,
    Her many-colour'd robes
    Dance varying to the Sun?

    Ah vainly does the Pilgrim, whose long road
    Leads o'er the barren mountain's storm-vext height,
    With anxious gaze survey
    The fruitful far-off vale.

    Oh there are those who love the pensive song
    To whom all sounds of Mirth are dissonant!
    There are who at this hour
    Will love to contemplate!

    For hopeless Sorrow hails the lapse of Time,
    Rejoicing when the fading orb of day
    Is sunk again in night,
    That one day more is gone.

    And he who bears Affliction's heavy load
    With patient piety, well pleas'd he knows
    The World a pilgrimage,
    The Grave the inn of rest.