 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
86
ON THE DEPARTING YEAR: CHRISTMAS.
Now, like a beggar, the decrepid yearCrawls on in tatters, which the rude wind turns
Up at each step—once more the eye discerns
That face turned briefly back, which Man shall ne'er
Behold again, as, gathering his sear
And faded garments round him, patched with ferns
And leaves, with such rude art as Misery learns
From dire constraint, he totters to his bier!
What would he not give now for the mere waste,
Superfluous finery of Summer, for
A few green leaves to screen him from the war
Of elements, whose rage hath so defaced
His goodly form! Oh thou, his heir at law,
Take of thine heritage a wise foretaste!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |