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A DYING YEAR
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


148

A DYING YEAR

As when upon some mighty battle-plain
The King has fallen and all his army knows
One common thrill goes through the myriad heart
For there he lies, breathing last breaths away,
So dear, so dear to all, he seems to lean
His sunken head on every soldier's breast:
So the Year dies; so, dying, seems to leave
His fallen head upon the heart of all.