Poetry Monday

New-Year’s Eve And New-Year’s Day


GOOD bye, Old Year!

And with thee take

Thanks for the gifts to every land

Thou broughtest in thy bounteous hand,

And all that thou hast taught to hearts thy lingering steps forsake.



Good bye, Old Year!

The Past awaiteth thee,

Who ruleth in her power alone

The kingdom of Oblivion.

Silent she sits in ebon chair;

Falling mists of dusky hair

Veil her dark eyes' glorious shine,

Full of wise help, and truth divine.

Silent, unless a fitful sound,

As from some cavern underground,

Steal from her lips; the company

Of ancient Years that round her be,

Then chanting, one by one, give tongue

To old experience in their song.



Good bye, Old Year!

Thou goest forth alone,

As we shall do: thy pages gay,

Seasons and months who round thee play,

Attend thee to Earth's farthest verge, then back! to greet thy son.



Hail, New-born Year!

Cradled in morning clouds

Golden and white. I cannot see

Thy face--'tis wrapp'd in mystery;

But Spring for thee is painting flowers,

And Summer decks her woven bowers;

Rich Autumn's sheaves will soon be reap'd,

With store of fruits in sunbeams steep'd,

And one by one with gentle hand folds back thy sunlit shrouds.



Hail, New-born Year!

Shining and beautiful.

Thou wilt step forth in plenitude

Of youth and its rejoicing mood.

Last child of the half-century,

And time of coming victory

Over the spirits of night and sin,

Whose howlings of defeat begin:

Thou bringest hope, and labour bless'd

In visions of successful rest,

Bringest great thoughts, and actions wrought

In fire upon that forge of thought,

And with the soul of earnestness I think thy youths are full.



Hail, New-born Year!

My utterance is too weak

To tell of all I think thou bringest,

To echo back the song thou singest;

But the very winds of Heaven, for those who listen to them, speak.

Bessie Rayner Parkes