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Alfred Lord Tennyson - The Death of the Old Year
Work rating: Medium

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing:
Toll ye the church bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying.
        Old year you must not die;
        You came to us so readily,
        You lived with us so steadily,
        Old year you shall not die. 

He lieth still: he doth not move:
He will not see the dawn of day.
He hath no other life above.
He gave me a friend and a true truelove
And the New-year will take `em away.
        Old year you must not go;
        So long you have been with us,
        Such joy as you have seen with us,
        Old year, you shall not go. 

He froth`d his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
But tho` his eyes are waxing dim,
And tho` his foes speak ill of him,
He was a friend to me.
        Old year, you shall not die;
        We did so laugh and cry with you,
        I`ve half a mind to die with you,
        Old year, if you must die. 

He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o`er.
To see him die across the waste
His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
But he`ll be dead before.
        Every one for his own.
        The night is starry and cold, my friend,
        And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,
        Comes up to take his own. 

How hard he breathes! over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
The shadows flicker to and fro:
The cricket chirps: the light burns low:
`Tis nearly twelve o`clock.
        Shake hands, before you die.
        Old year, we`ll dearly rue for you:
        What is it we can do for you?
        Speak out before you die. 

His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone,
Close up his eyes: tie up his chin:
Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,
        And waiteth at the door.
        There`s a new foot on the floor, my friend,
        And a new face at the door, my friend,
        A new face at the door.
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