It is Almost the Year Two Thousand

To start the world of old
We had one age of gold
Not labored out of mines,
And some say there are signs,
The second such has come,
The true Millennium,
The final golden glow
To end it. And if so
(and science ought to know)
We may well raise our heads
From weeding garden beds
And annotating books
To watch this end de luxe.