Hold your hands to the blaze; br Winter is here br With the short cold days, br Bleak, keen and drear. br Was there ever a day br With hawthorn along the way br Where you wandered in mild mid-May br With your dear? br br That was when you were young br And the world was gold; br Now all the songs are sung, br The tales all told. br You shiver now by the fire br Where the last red sparks expire; br Dead are delight and desire: br You are old.