With trembling fingers did we weave
⁠The holly round the Chrismas hearth;
⁠A rainy cloud possess'd the earth,
And sadly fell our Christmas-eve.

At our old pastimes in the hall
⁠We gambol'd, making vain pretence
⁠Of gladness, with an awful sense
Of one mute Shadow watching all.

We paused: the winds were in the beech:
⁠We heard them sweep the winter land;
⁠And in a circle hand-in-hand
Sat silent, looking each at each.

Then echo-like our voices rang;
⁠We sung, tho' every eye was dim,
⁠A merry song we sang with him
Last year: impetuously we sang: