Said the year that was old:

"I am cold, I am cold,

And my breath hurries fast

On the wild winter blast

Of this thankless December;

Ah, who will remember

As I, shivering, go,

The warmth and the glow

That arose like a flame

When I came, when I came?

For I brought in my hands,

From Utopian lands,

Golden gifts, and the schemes

That were fairer than dreams.

Ah, never a king

Of a twelvemonth, will bring

Such a splendor of treasure

Without stint or measure,

As I brought on that day,

Triumphant and gay.

But, alas, and alas,

Who will think as I pass,

I was once gay and bold?"

Said the year that was old.

Said the year that was young—

And his light laughter rung—

"Come, bid me good cheer,

For I bring with me here

Such gifts as the earth

Never saw till my birth;

All the largess of life,

Right royally rife

With the plans and the schemes

Of the world's highest dreams.

Then—hope's chalice filled up

To the brim of the cup,

Let us drink to the past,

The poor pitiful past,"

Sang the year that was young,

While his light laughter rung.