by Jean Blewett
'O last days of the year!' she whispered low,
'You fly too swiftly past. Ah, you might stay
A while, a little while. Do you not know
What tender things you bear with you away?
'I'm thinking, sitting in the soft gloom here,
Of all the riches that were mine the day
There crept down on the world the soft New Year,
A rosy thing with promise filled, and gay.
'But twelve short months ago! a little space
In which to lose so much-a whole life's wealth
Of love and faith, youth and youth's tender grace-
Things that are wont to go from us by stealth.
'Laughter and blushes, and the rapture strong,
The clasp of clinging hands, the ling'ring kiss,
The joy of living, and the glorious song
That drew its sweetness from a full heart's bliss.
'O wealth of tenderness! O gladness great!
That crowned me, covered me a year ago!
A bankrupt, I-gone faith, gone warm caress
Gone love, gone youth, gone all!'
She whispered low.
'Oh, last days of the year, you take away
The riches that I held so close and dear.
Go not so swiftly, stay a little, stay
With one poor bankrupt,
Last days of the year.'
Last updated April 28, 2023