Author: Mary Huggins

Death of The Old Year

Alfred Tennyson 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, true-love, And the new year will take them away. Old year, you must not...

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