English poem
The Year’S End
by Marie Van Vorst (1867–1936)
What are my ways now that my Love is dead? As candles round a bier stand future days. Must I then read in annals of years fled What are my ways? On, the Time-reaping shining sickle sways; I watch in fog and rain with bended head; And for no flower swathe the cold blade stays. If memory were a solace, hearts that bled Were healed long since!... Now the quick tear betrays I may not with my past be comforted: What are my ways?