Poems (Freston)/Good-Bye, Old Year

by Elizabeth Heléne Freston

GOOD-BYE, OLD YEAR

Old year, to you I'll say 'good-bye'
Without regret, without a sigh!
You brought me gifts in lavish store,
But oh! you brought me sorrows more!
You came on tip-toe to my bed,
And kissed my sleeping eyes, and fed
My soul on promises of gold,
That now are tarnished, dim and old.

I laughed with joy to find you there,
With violets fresh and love words fair,—
The violets were of somber hue,
The love words false,—as false as you!
I gather all your gifts to-night,—
The loss of love, ambition's blight,
The death of faith in one held dear,—
The waxen face upon the bier.

The silence in an aching heart
Of prattling tongues,—life's sweetest part,
The struggle and the pain and wrong,
The grave mistake, poor Folly's song;
The laughter that but checked the tear,
The gentle word that hid the sneer;—
The nettle-sting of so-called friends,
The poisoned dart that, well aimed, sends

Back o'er the heart a surge of pain,
Though one may smile and smile again.
('Twas not your gift old year,—the cure,—
This boundless courage to endure!
To meet Fate's shafts with smiling eye,
Give blow for blow, or pass them by.)
All this the meed of one short year,—
To-night I'll rake together here,

And on your back the burden lay,
And let you bear it far away,
I'll have no memories dim the cheer
With which I greet the glad New Year.
But hold! There is one gift you gave,
Out of them all I fain would save!
The memory of a tender heart,
That drew from mine pain's keenest dart,—

A few bright hours I still would hold,
Deep in my soul, enshrined in gold.
A vision of dear eyes of blue,
A glint of curls of golden hue,
A sunny smile I'll ne'er forget,
And for that gift I thank you yet!
But memories that the spirit mar,
And every gift a heart can scar,
Out of my life to-night I'll fling,
And clean-souled greet the new born king!