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.