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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341475" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Passing Of The Century</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341475" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">How shall we comfort the Dying Year?<br>Beg him to linger, or bid him go?<br>The light in his eyes burns dim and low,<br>His hands are clammy, his pulse beats slow,<br>He wanders and mumbles, but doth not hear.<br>The lanes are sodden, the leaf-drifts sere,<br>And the wrack is weaving his shroud of white.<br>Do you not see he is weary quite<br>Of the languor of living, and longs for night?<br>Lo! He is gone! Now lower him down<br>In the snug-warm earth, 'neath the clods of brown<br>And the buds of the winter aconite.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341475" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">How shall we part with the bygone Year?<br>Cover with cypress, or wreathe with bay?<br>He will not heed what you do or say,<br>He is deaf to to-morrow as yesterday.<br>Why do you linger about his bier?<br>He has gone to the Ghostland, he is not here.<br>We may go on our way, we may live and laugh,<br>Round the banqueting blaze can feast and quaff.<br>The purple catafalque, stately staff,<br>The dirges of sorrow, the songs of praise,<br>And the costliest monument man can raise,<br>Are but for the Spirit's cenotaph.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341475" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Dust unto dust, He is dead, though he<br>Was the last of the centuried years that flow,<br>We know not wherefore, we never shall know,<br>With the tide unebbing of Time, and go<br>To the phantom shore of Eternity.<br>Shadows to shadows, they flit and flee<br>Across the face of the flaming sun,<br>The vague generations, one by one,<br>That never are ended, never begun.<br>Where is the dome or the vault so vast,<br>As to coffin the bones of the perished Past,<br>Save the limitless tomb of Oblivion?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341475" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">What tale would he tell, could the dead but speak?<br>``I was born, as I died, amid wrath and smoke,<br>When the war-wains rolled, and the cannons spoke,<br>When the vulture's cry and the raven's croak<br>Flapped hungrily over the dying shriek,<br>And nothing was seen but a blood-red streak<br>Betwixt lowering sky and leaden main;<br>When slanted and slashed the rifles' rain<br>Upon furrows whose harvest were sheaves of slain;<br>When the levin's glare by the thunder's crash<br>Was bellowed, and ever 'twixt flash and flash<br>The howl of the unspent hurricane.''</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341475" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Let the dead discourse with the dead. So ask<br>How best now to welcome the new-born Year.<br>She is coming, is coming, and, lo! is here,<br>With forehead and footstep that know not fear.<br>She will shrink from no pleasure, evade no task,<br>But there never was worn or veil or mask<br>Like her frank fair face and her candid soul.<br>Do you fathom her thoughts, can you guess her goal,<br>Her waywardness chasten, her fate control?<br>She will wend with her doom, and that doom be ours;<br>So greet her with carol and snow-white flowers,<br>And crown her with Hope's own aureole.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=341475" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Yet mind her dawn of the dark, for she,<br>She too must pass 'neath the lych-gate porch;<br>And give to her keeping the vestal Torch,<br>That may ofttime smoulder, and sometimes scorch,<br>But rebrightens and burns eternally:<br>The beacon on land and the planet at sea,<br>When the night is murk, and the mist is dense,<br>To guide us Whither, remind us Whence,<br>The Soul's sure lamp through the shades of sense.<br>She must tread the Unknown the dead years trod;<br>Though rugged the road, yet the goal is God,<br>And the will of all-wise Omnipotence.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Alfred+Austin">Alfred Austin</a></strong></div>