Yes, the Year is growing old,
And his eye is pale and bleared!
Death, with frosty hand and cold,
Plucks the old man by the beard,
Sorely, sorely!
The leaves are falling, falling,
Solemnly and slow;
Caw! caw! the rooks are calling,
It is a sound of woe,
A sound of woe!
Through woods and mountain passes
The winds, like anthems, roll;
They are chanting solemn masses,
Singing, “Pray for this poor soul,
Pray, pray!”
And the hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain,
And patter their doleful prayers;
But their prayers are all in vain,
All in vain!
There he stands in the foul weather,
The foolish, fond Old Year,
Crowned with wild flowers and with heather,
Like weak, despis
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
More Poetry from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poems based on Topics: Death & Dying, Soul, Prayers, Singing, Weather, Fool- The Golden Legend: VI. The School Of Salerno (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poems)
- The Golden Legend: V. A Covered Bridge At Lucerne (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poems)
- The Golden Legend: Prologue & 1. (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poems)
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- Coplas De Manrique (From The Spanish) (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poems)
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