New Year's Eve / Lord Alfred Tennyson

If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear,

  For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year.

  It is the last New-year that I shall ever see,

  Then you may lay me low i' the mould and think no more of me.

  To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind

  The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind;

  And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see

  The blossom on [1] the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.

  Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day;

  Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May;

  And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel copse,

  Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white chimney-tops.

  There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the pane:

  I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again:

  I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high:

  I long to see a flower so before the day I die.

  The building rook'll caw from the windy tall elm-tree,

  And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,

  And the swallow'll come back again with summer o'er the wave.

  But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.

  Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine,

  In the early, early morning the summer sun'll shine,

  Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill,

  When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still.

  When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light

  You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night;

  When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool

  On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool.

  You'll bury me, [2] my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,

  And you'll come [3] sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid.

  I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass,[4]

  With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.

  I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive [5] me now;

  You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go; [6]

  Nay, nay, you must not weep, [7] nor let your grief be wild,

  You should not fret for me, mother, you [8] have another child.

  If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place;

  Tho' you'll [9] not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face;

  Tho' I cannot speak a word, 1 shall harken what you [10] say,

  And be often, often with you when you think [11] I'm far away.

  Good-night, good-night, when I have said good-night for evermore,

  And you [12] see me carried out from the threshold of the door;

  Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green:

  She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.

  She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor:

  Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden more:

  But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set

  About the parlour-window and the box of mignonette.

  Good-night, sweet mother: call me before the day is born. [13]

  All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn;

  But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year,

  So, if your waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.

[Footnote 1: 1833. The may upon.]

[Footnote 2: 1833. Ye'll bury me.]

[Footnote 3: 1833. And ye'll come.]

[Footnote 4: 1833. I shall not forget ye, mother, I shall hear ye when ye pass.]

[Footnote 5: 1833. But ye'll forgive.]

[Footnote 6: 1833. Ye'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow. 1850. And foregive me ere I go.]

[Footnote 7: 1833. Ye must not weep.]

[Footnote 8: 1833. Ye ... ye.]

[Footnote 9: 1833. Ye'll.]

[Footnote 10: 1833. Ye.]

[Footnote 11: 1833. Ye when ye think.]

[Footnote 12: 1833. Ye.]

[Footnote 13: 1833. Call me when it begins to dawn. 1842. Before the day is born.]