End Of The Year 1912

YOU were here at his young beginning, You are not here at his agèd end; Off he coaxed you from Life’s mad spinning, Lest you should see his form extend Shivering, sighing, Slowly dying, And a tear on him expend.

So it comes that we stand lonely In the star-lit avenue, Dropping broken lipwords only, For we hear no songs from you, Such as flew here For the new year Once, while six bells swung thereto.