End of the Year 1912

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

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