Edgar Fawcett

"And last December drear, with piteous low-drooped head. In a voice of desolation, crying out, ‘The year is dead. And so, with changeful gear, with smile or frown or song, the months, in strange variation, are ever gliding along.’"

- Edgar Fawcett

"January is here, with eyes that keenly glow, a frost-mailed warrior striding a shadowy steed of snow."

- Edgar Fawcett