Page:Poems (IA poemstennalfr00tennrich).pdf/166

THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR.

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i.

Full kneedeep lies the winter snow,

And the winter winds are wearily sighing:
Toll ye the churchbell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.
⁠Old year, you must not die.
⁠You came to us so readily,
⁠You lived with us so steadily,
⁠Old year, you shall not die.