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Updated: April 30, 2025
"One whispers, 'Here thy boyhood sung Long since its matin song, and heard The low love-language of the bird In native hazels tassel-hung. "The other answers, 'Yea, but here Thy feet have stray'd in after hours With thy lost friend among the bowers, And this hath made them trebly dear." The poem moves on, and once again in the new home Christmas comes round.
The dainty catkins of the hazel are the first sign of awakening life in the woods; they are well out by the end of January or early in February, and as they ripen, clouds of pollen are disseminated by the wind. Tennyson speaks of "Native hazels tassel-hung."
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