End of the Year 1912

You were here at his young beginning,You are not here at his agèd end;Off he coaxed you from Life's mad spinning,Lest you should see his form extendShivering, sighing,Slowly dying,And a tear on him expend.

So it comes that we stand lonelyIn the star-lit avenue,Dropping broken lipwords only,For we hear no songs from you,Such as flew hereFor the new yearOnce, while six bells swung thereto.