First Lines of Edmund Clarence Stedman
Abbot and monks of WestminsterClothed in sable, crowned with gold,Come, let us burst the cerements and the shroud,I sat beneath a fragrant tasselled tree,I walk the lane's dim hollow, --Look on this cast, and know the handMute, sightless visitant,Noël! Noël!O Pilgrim from the Indies!SADDE songe is out of seasonSometimes within my handThat year? Yes, doubtless I remember still, --The hand that drew thee lies in Roman soil,The second landing-place. Above,The silent world is sleeping,The sunset darkens in the west,The sunset fires old Portsmouth spires,This way, children, and hear me tellThou, -- whose endearing hand once laid in soothTwelve hundred miles and moreTwo thousand feet in air it standsWhat would you do, my dear one said, --When Christmas-Eve is ended,When Sibyl kept her tryst with me, the harvest moon was rounded,