THAT which we were forever stands between Ourselves and that we would be. With frail hands, Cold upon either's wrist, an Old Year stands And holds us prisoners for what has been; And pitiful her eyes that needs must screen Our restless eyes that turn toward unseen lands And strange new days, and all the heart's demands Falter and fail before her wistful mien. Surely we need but little strength to break This feeble hold and turn and wander free, Each one his separate way beyond her door; Strange that we stand here sullenly for sake Of that brief joy she gave to you and me, Ere Love went weeping to return no more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FARRAGUT by WILLIAM TUCKEY MEREDITH SONNET: 107 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: FOURTH SONG by PHILIP SIDNEY THE BIRTHDAY CROWN by WILLIAM ALEXANDER (1824-1911) RARE DESTINY by FLORA LOUISE BAILEY MORGUE: 2. LOVELY CHILDHOOD by GOTTFRIED BENN |