CLOSE OF THE YEAR.
93
It is the old year's death~hour, but no sob
Comes on the night-air from his dying breast;
Serene, and calm, and still, without one throb
Of agony he passes to his rest.
Comes on the night-air from his dying breast;
Serene, and calm, and still, without one throb
Of agony he passes to his rest.
Yet tears are in our hearts and in our eyes,
Mid the strange stillness of this solemn night,
While here we sit and muse upon the ties
The dying year has severed in his flight;
Ay, as his last breath on the air is flung,
Our hearts are heavy and our eyes are dim
With thinking of the woes that with him sprung
To life—alas; they cannot die with him.
Mid the strange stillness of this solemn night,
While here we sit and muse upon the ties
The dying year has severed in his flight;
Ay, as his last breath on the air is flung,
Our hearts are heavy and our eyes are dim
With thinking of the woes that with him sprung
To life—alas; they cannot die with him.
Like the cold shadow of a demon's plume,
A chilling darkness that will not depart
Lies on our thoughts, and casts its sullen gloom
Around the dearest idols of the heart;
We learn in youth the stern and bitter lore
That comes of ruined hopes and darkened dreams,
A chilling darkness that will not depart
Lies on our thoughts, and casts its sullen gloom
Around the dearest idols of the heart;
We learn in youth the stern and bitter lore
That comes of ruined hopes and darkened dreams,
