Solvitur Acris Hiemps.

A poem by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch

My Juggins, see: the pasture green,
Obeying Nature's kindly law,
Renews its mantle; there has been
A thaw.

The frost-bound earth is free at last,
That lay 'neath Winter's sullen yoke
'Till people felt it getting past
A joke.

Now forth again the Freshers fare,
And get them tasty summer suits
Wherein they flaunt afield and scare
The brutes.

Again the stream suspects the keel;
Again the shrieking captain drops
Upon his crew; again the meal
Of chops

Divides the too-laborious day;
Again the Student sighs o'er Mods,
And prompts his enemies to lay
Long odds.

Again the shopman spreads his wiles;
Again the organ-pipes, unbound,
Distract the populace for miles
Around.

Then, Juggins, ere December's touch
Once more the wealth of Spring reclaim,
Since each successive year is much
The same;

Since too the monarch on his throne
In purple lapped and frankincense,
Who from his infancy has blown
Expense,

No less than he who barely gets
The boon of out-of-door relief,
Must see desuetude,--come let's
Be brief.

At those resolves last New Year's Day
The easy gods indulgent wink.
Then downward, ho!--the shortest way
Is drink.

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