The Old Year and the New

Low at my feet there lies to-night
  A crushed and withered rose;
Within its heart of fading red
  No crimson fire glows;
For o'er its leaves the frost of death
  Steals like an icy breath;
And soon 't will vanish from my sight,
  A thing of gloom and death.
Ah! beauteous flower, once thou wert
  My pleasure and my pride;
And now when thou art old and worn
  I will not turn aside;
But gently o'er thy faded leaves
  I'll shed one kindly tear;
That thou wilt know, though dead and gone,
  To memory thou art dear.
Before my gaze there lies to-night
  A rose-bud fresh and fair;
And like the breath of dewy morn
  Its fragrance scents the air.
This fragile flower I fain would pluck
  With hand most kind yet bold;
And watch its petals day by day
  Their shining wealth unfold.
And soon 'twill be my very own
  To keep forevermore:
This flower that bloomed for me alone
  Upon a heavenly shore.
God grant my hands may guard it well
  And keep it pure and fair;
For angel hands have gathered it
  And placed it in my care.
Then fare thee well, thou dying year,
  Thou art my withered rose;
And on the stem where once thou wert,
  Another flower grows;
Yet fear thee not, when thou are dead,
  To thee I'll still be true;
And 'mid the joys of other years
  I still will think of you.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...