The Old Year
Lo, now, when dark December's gathering storm
With heavy wing o'ershadows many a heart,
Beside us the old year, with mailèd form,
Stands waiting to depart.
Weighed down as with a ponderous tale of woe,
How dim his eyes, how wan his cheeks appear!
Like Denmark's spectre king, with motion slow
He beckons the young year.
With heavy wing o'ershadows many a heart,
Beside us the old year, with mailèd form,
Stands waiting to depart.
Weighed down as with a ponderous tale of woe,
How dim his eyes, how wan his cheeks appear!
Like Denmark's spectre king, with motion slow
He beckons the young year.
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