Here, it is here, the close of the year,
And with it a spiteful letter.
My name in song has done him much wrong,
For himself has done much better.
O little bard, is your lot so hard,
If men neglect your pages?
I think not much of yours or of mine,
I hear the roll of the ages.
Rhymes and rhymes in the range of the times!
Are mine for the moment stronger?
Yet hate me not, but abide your lot;
I last but a moment longer.
This faded leaf, our names are as brief;
What room is left for a hater?
Yet the yellow leaf hates the greener leaf,
For it hangs one moment later.
Greater than I--is that your cry?
And men will live to see it.
Well--if it be so--so it is, you know;
And if it be so, so be it.
Brief, brief is a summer leaf,
But this is the time of hollies.
O hollies and ivies and evergreens,
How I hate the spites and the follies!
The Spiteful Letter
Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Poem topics: song, summer, time, room, hear, wrong, hard, year, live, yellow, hate, I love you, I miss you, moment, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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