Plunging through on a funeral gale The year sweeps out to die at sea, Under the mournful stars and pale The gray thing hurries away from me. Why do I stretch out anguished hands, Why am I worn and dull with pain? Sweet friend of friends, in the next year's bands Will your face look on mine again? The year sweeps o'er the wailing brood Of breakers to his place of death; While on the heights, where erst he stood, The new year draws generic breath: He flies, he flies through blinding sleet His form is wrapped in shrouding rain: Heart of my heart, shall we two meet And watch a year pass e'er again? On the sea's margin breaks the light And colour of the new year's dawn, Thoughtful of spring-tide it takes flight And lingers over wood and lawn. Ah, weep not so! incline your head Upon my breast, as you are fain Soul of my life, shall I be dead Ere you will kiss mine eyes again? |