Irreverend head, bright crown'd with holly,
Makes one forswear, as fudge, all melancholy,—
Thou gladdening, glowing, glorious old December!
Grey Nestor of the Months! brethren eleven,
Joint heirs with thee of Eighteen Thirty-seven,
Knock'd up by Time, enjoy oblivious slumbers,—
Old Monthlies out of print—the scarce back numbers,
Sold out—not one a shop or shelf encumbers,
While thou art but just publish'd—"No. XII.—December!"
"Hail, Thane of" Time!—thou genial, warm old sire