 | The Autumn Garden |  |
92
A Song for the New Year
What graven words shall mark as mine
This milestone of a year?
What prayer shall be the worthy sign
Of all I hope and fear?
Not greed for gold—
I'm growing old;
Burdens I dare no more uphold;
Nor deem I meet for weary feet
The dust and struggle of the street.
This milestone of a year?
What prayer shall be the worthy sign
Of all I hope and fear?
Not greed for gold—
I'm growing old;
Burdens I dare no more uphold;
Nor deem I meet for weary feet
The dust and struggle of the street.
Then shall I wish for utter peace?
For light with calm around?
For all the stir of life to cease
In apathy profound?
Ah! no, too long
I've warred with wrong;
I've loved the clash of battle-song;
For me, to drone in ease alone
Were heavier than a church-yard stone.
For light with calm around?
For all the stir of life to cease
In apathy profound?
Ah! no, too long
I've warred with wrong;
I've loved the clash of battle-song;
For me, to drone in ease alone
Were heavier than a church-yard stone.
And fame? Alas! it comes too late,
Or, coming, flies too soon;
It dawns, as o'er the meadow-gate,
Peers up the yellow moon;
It glows in power
One feverish hour,
Then passes like a perish'd flower;
Or sets, to rise in alien skies,
And cheat me of my lawful prize.
Or, coming, flies too soon;
It dawns, as o'er the meadow-gate,
Peers up the yellow moon;
93
One feverish hour,
Then passes like a perish'd flower;
Or sets, to rise in alien skies,
And cheat me of my lawful prize.
Why, then, my New Year's wish shall be
For love, and love alone;
More hands to hold out joy to me,
More hearts for me to own;
And if the gain
In part be pain,—
Since time but gives to take again,—
Yet more than gold a thousand-fold
Is love that's neither bought nor sold.
For love, and love alone;
More hands to hold out joy to me,
More hearts for me to own;
And if the gain
In part be pain,—
Since time but gives to take again,—
Yet more than gold a thousand-fold
Is love that's neither bought nor sold.
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