Enjoy the New Year 2019 Poems:
The brand new year is a time to celebrate new beginnings. it’s time to rejoice having a easy slate. whatever is feasible because the past doesn’t depend. It has end up a time to have a good time our romantic relationships by using kissing at the moment that the new year begins. lots of us also celebrate with the aid of getting absolutely wasted. whats up, do not knock it until you try it. however please do not drink and pressure. Celebrating the brand new yr by announcing that your life and the lives of others on the streets aren’t important isn’t always precisely lifestyles maintaining
Robert Burns, “Song—Auld Lang Syne” (1788)
It is a track that hundreds of thousands select to sing each year as the clock strikes midnight and it’s far a undying traditional.
Auld Lang Syne is both a tune and a poem, in any case, songs are poetry set to music, proper?
And yet, the music we realize nowadays isn’t pretty the identical aspect that Robert Burns had in mind when he wrote it over two centuries ago. The melody has modified and among the phrases had been updated (and others have now not) to meet cutting-edge tongues.
As an instance, in the closing verse, Burns wrote:
And there’s a hand, my trusty fere!
And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right gude-willie waught,
The modern version prefers:
And ther’s a hand, my trusty buddy,
And gie’s a hand o’ thine;
we will tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
it’s far the word “gude-willie waught” that catches most of the people through marvel and it is clean to peer why many people choose to repeat “cup o’ kindness yet.” They clearly do imply the equal factor although, as gude-willie is Scottish adjective which means right-will and waught approach hearty drink.
Tip: A commonplace misconception is that “Sin'” is reported zine whilst certainly it is extra like sign. It way on account that and auld lang syne refers to something like “old lengthy considering the fact that.”
Ella Wheeler Wilcox, “The Year” (1910)
What can be said in New year rhymes,
That’s now not been said a thousand instances?
The new years come, the old years cross,
We know we dream, we dream we recognise.
We upward push up laughing with the light,
We lie down weeping with the night.
We hug the arena till it stings,
We curse it then and sigh for wings.
We stay, we love, we woo, we wed,
We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead.
We snigger, we weep, we are hoping, we worry,
And that’s the burden of the 12 months.
In case you get the opportunity, examine Wilcox’s “New 12 months: A communicate.” Written in 1909, it’s far a incredible communicate between ‘Mortal’ and ‘the brand new 12 months’ wherein the latter knocks on the door with offers of suitable cheer, hope, achievement, fitness, and love.
The reluctant and downcast mortal is subsequently lured in. it’s miles a brilliant statement on how the brand new yr frequently revives us although it is just another day at the calendar.
Helen Hunt Jackson, “New Year’s Morning” (1892)
alongside those identical traces, Hellen Hunt Jackson’s poem, “New 12 months’s Morning” discusses how it is most effective one night time and that each morning may be New year‘s.
This is a tremendous piece of inspirational prose that ends with:
Most effective a night from vintage to new;
Handiest a snooze from night time to morn.
The brand new is however the antique come actual;
Each dawn sees a brand new year born.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “The Death of the Old Year” (1842)
Poets often relate the vintage 12 months with drudgery and sorrow and the brand new 12 months with desire and lifted spirits. Alfred, Lord Tennyson did not pull away from these thoughts and the title of his poem, “The demise of the vintage year” captures the sentiment of the verses flawlessly.
In this classic poem, Tennyson spends the first 4 verses lamenting the year’s passing as if it were an antique and pricey buddy on his dying bed.
The first stanza ends with four poignant traces:
Old year you have to now not die;
You came to us so without difficulty,
You lived with us so gradually,
Old yr you shall not die.
As the verses pass on, he counts down the hours: “’Tis almost twelve o’clock. Shake palms, before you die.” subsequently, a ‘new face’ is at his door and the narrator should “Step from the corpse, and permit him in.”
Tennyson addresses the brand new yr in “Ring Out, Wild Bells” (from “In Memoriam A.H.H.,” 1849) as nicely. on this poem, he pleads with the “wild bells” to “Ring out” the grief, dying, pleasure, spite, and many more distasteful trends. As he does this, he asks the bells to ring inside the excellent, the peace, the noble, and “the genuine.”
New Year 2019 Poems:
Loss of life, existence, unhappiness, and hope; poets in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries took those New yr’s topics to incredible extremes as they wrote.
A few took an positive view at the same time as, for others, it appears to have only caused depression.
As you explore this subject matter, be sure to examine those conventional poems and have a look at some of the context of the poets’ lives as the have an effect on is regularly very profound in the expertise.
William Cullen Bryant, “A Song for New Year’s Eve” (1859)
Bryant reminds us that the antique year is not but long gone and that we have to enjoy it to the remaining 2d. Many people take this as a remarkable reminder for existence in fashionable.
Emily Dickinson, “One Year ago — jots what?” (#296)
The new year makes many human beings look again and replicate. While now not in particular approximately New year‘s Day, this top notch poem is wildly introspective. The poet wrote it at the anniversary of her father’s dying and her writing seems so jumbled, so distraught that it movements the reader. irrespective of your “anniversary” — demise, loss… something — you have got possibly felt the same as Dickinson at one time.
Christina Rossetti, “Old and New Year Ditties” (1862)
The Victorian poet will be pretty morbid and, fairly, this poem from the gathering “Goblin marketplace and different Poems” is considered one of her brighter works. it’s miles very Biblical and offers hope and success.
Burning the Old Year
Letters swallow themselves in seconds.
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
Obvious scarlet paper,
Sizzle like moth wings,
Marry the air.
A lot of any yr is flammable,
Lists of vegetables, partial poems.
Orange swirling flame of days,
So little is a stone.
Wherein there has been some thing and suddenly isn’t,
An absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a area.
I start once more with the smallest numbers.
Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,
Best the things I didn’t do
Crackle after the blazing dies.
Happy New Year Day
The rain this morning falls
on the remaining of the snow
And could wash it away. i’m able to scent
The grass once more, and the torn leaves
Being eased down into the dust.
The few loves I’ve been allowed
To hold are still snoozing
on the West Coast. right here in Virginia
I walk throughout the fields with handiest
some young cows for enterprise.
Large-boned and shy,
they are like ladies I consider
From junior excessive, who in no way
spoke, who saved their heads
Decreased and their palms crossed towards
their new breasts. those ladies
Are nearly forty now. Like me,
they should occasionally stand
At a window late at night time, searching out
on a silent outside, at one
Rusting garden chair and the sheer walls
of other humans’s houses.
They should lie down some afternoons
and cry difficult for whoever used
To lead them to happiest,
and surprise how their lives
Have carried them
this far with out ever as soon as
Explaining anything. I don’t recognise
why I’m taking walks out here
With my coat darkening
and my boots sinking in, developing
With a mild sucking sound
i like to pay attention. I don’t care
In which those women are actually.
whatever they’ve made of it
They could have. today I need
to solve nothing.
I best need to walk
a touch longer within the cold
Blessing of the rain,
and lift my face to it.
All my undone moves wander
bare throughout the calendar,
A band of skinny hunter-gatherers,
blown snow scattered here and there,
Stumbling closer to a destiny
folded within the New yr I at ease
With a pushpin: January’s image
a painting from the 17th century,
A nonetheless existence: skull and mirror,
spilled coin handbag and a flower.
Particulate as ash, new yr’s first snow falls
upon peaked roofs, car hoods, undulant hills,
in imitation of movement that movements the manner
Static cascades down monitors while the cable
zaps out, chronic & granular with a flicker
of legibility that dissipates before it may be
Interpolated into any succession of imagery.
One hour stretches sixty mins right into a discipline
of white flurry: hexagonal lattices of water
Molecules that accumulate in drifts too soon
strewn with sand, hewn into browning
mounds by means of plow blade, left to show to slush.
On new year’s eve
we make middle of the night a maquette of the 12 months:
frostlight glinting off snow to solemnize
the vows we offer to ourselves in near
silence: the opposition shimmerwise
of champagne and chandeliers to draw
laughter and cheers: the glow from the fire
reflecting the burning intra-red p.c.
among beloveds: we cosset the distance
of a fey hour, anxious gods molding our
hoped-for adams with this temporal clay:
every folks edacious for shining or
rash enough to suppose sacrifice will stay
this fugacious time: whilst stillness suspends
power in balance, as passions
war with passions for sway, the thoughts wends
toward what’s to come: a callithump of fashions,
ersatz smiles, crowded days: a cold reduce
that severs soul from bone: a long aching
quiet in which we will hear not anything but
the clean crack of our guarantees breaking.
After the Gentle Poet Kobayashi Issa
New 12 months’s morning—
everything is in blossom!
I feel about common.
A large frog and i
looking at every other,
neither people actions.
This moth saw brightness
in a female’s chamber—
burned to a crisp.
Requested how vintage he was
the boy in the new kimono
stretched out all 5 hands.
Blossoms at night time,
like human beings
moved with the aid of music
Napped half the day;
It’s all clear profit,
Don’t fear, spiders,
I hold house
Those sea slugs,
they just don’t seem
Vivid autumn moon;
pond snails crying
within the saucepan.
Mild is the Parting Year
Mild is the parting yr, and sweet
The odour of the falling spray;
existence passes on greater rudely fleet,
And balmless is its last day.
I wait its near, I court its gloom,
however mourn that by no means should there fall
Or on my breast or on my tomb
The tear that would have soothed all of it.
1 January 1965
The wise guys will unlearn your call.
Above your head no star will flame.
One weary sound might be the identical—
the hoarse roar of the gale.
The shadows fall out of your worn-out eyes
as your lone bedside candle dies,
for right here the calendar breeds nights
until stores of candles fail.
What activates this melancholy key?
a protracted familiar melody.
It sounds again. So permit it’s.
allow it sound from this night time.
let it sound in my hour of death—
as gratefulness of eyes and lips
for that which from time to time makes us carry
our gaze to the far sky.
You glare in silence at the wall.
Your stocking gapes: no gifts at all.
it is clear that you are actually too vintage
to agree with in top Saint Nick;
that it’s too past due for miracles.
—but suddenly, lifting your eyes
to heaven’s light, you understand:
your existence is a sheer gift.
New Year‘s Poem
The Christmas twigs crispen and needles rattle
along the window-ledge.
A solitary pearl
Shed from the necklace spilled at last week’s party
Lies in the suety, snow-luminous plainness
Of morning, on the window-ledge beside them.
And all the furnishings that rotated stately
And hospitable while these rooms have been brimmed
With perfumes, furs, and black-and-silver
Crisscross of seasonal verbal exchange, lapses
Into its previous largeness.
I don’t forget
Anne’s rose-sweet gravity, and the stiff grave
where bloodless so little can comprise;
I mark the queer delightful cranium and crossbones
Starlings and sparrows left, taking the crust,
And the long loop of winter wind
Smoothing its arc from darkish Arcturus down
To the bricked nook of the drifted courtyard,
And the nevertheless window-ledge.
mild and just delight
it’s miles, being human, to have won from space
This unchill, habitable indoors
Which mirrors quietly the light
Of the snow, and the brand new yr.
To the New Year
With what stillness at last
you appear inside the valley
your first sunlight accomplishing down
to touch the suggestions of a few
excessive leaves that don’t stir
as even though that they had no longer observed
and did not understand you in any respect
then the voice of a dove calls
from far away in itself
to the hush of the morning
So that is the sound of you
here and now whether or not or not
absolutely everyone hears it that is
wherein we have come with our age
our knowledge inclusive of it’s miles
and our hopes together with they may be
invisible before us
untouched and nevertheless viable
It needn’t be tinder, this juncture of the year,
a cigarette 2d guessed from automobile to sweep.
The woods’ parchment is given
to cracking asunder the primary puff of wind.
the day before today a big sycamore came throughout First
and Hawthorne and is there but.
The papers say it has to appear,
if simply as dribs and drabs at the asbestos siding.
however this night is buckets of stars as tough and dry as dimes.
A month’s supper things stacks within the sink.
Tea brews from water stoppered in the bathtub
and any thirst carried forward is quenched questioning you,
piece by using piece, an yule present hidden
and found weeks after: the ribbon, the box.
i’ve reservoirs of want enough
to freeze many nights over.
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Now iciness downs the dying of the 12 months,
And night time is all a settlement of snow;
From the tender street the rooms of houses show
A accrued mild, a shapen ecosystem,
Like frozen-over lakes whose ice is skinny
And nevertheless allows some stirring down within.
I’ve acknowledged the wind by way of water banks to shake
The overdue leaves down, which frozen where they fell
And held in ice as dancers in a spell
Fluttered all iciness lengthy into a lake;
Graved on the dark in gestures of descent,
They appeared their personal most ideal monument.
there has been perfection in the death of ferns
Which laid their fragile cheeks in opposition to the stone
1,000,000 years. remarkable mammoths overthrown
Composedly have made their long sojourns,
Like palaces of persistence, inside the grey
And changeless lands of ice. And at Pompeii
The little canine lay curled and did now not upward thrust
but slept the deeper as the ashes rose
And found the humans incomplete, and iced up
The random palms, the unfastened unready eyes
of men looking ahead to but any other solar
To do the shapely issue they’d not completed.
those unexpected ends of time should supply us pause.
We fray into the future, not often wrought
shop inside the tapestries of afterthought.
greater time, extra time. Barrages of applause
Come muffled from a buried radio.
the new-yr bells are wrangling with the snow.
Snow fallen, any other going
gone, new come in, open
every night time I develop
young, my buddies are well
once more, my lifestyles is all
I near a door, some other door.
Cloud on cloud, gray
on gray, snow fallen
on snow, tree on tree
on unleafed tree—
simplest a river silvered
with skinny ice and a scale down
of gold inside the overdue grey sky.
Grayed snow slush trudge but
snow falling coating filling
in for absence present!
child with stringed mittens
right here to take her place
to take over on
snow displaying up air
White sky, whiter solar brushing
timber with tints of red, then
within the distance streaking
mauve gold, filling in
among the now filagreed
timber, silhouettes towards
the now red burning sky.
as if letting cross, dangling down,
most effective down, thru a cracked
pane, a clear pane, weeping
beech branches, roots
in air, handiest the crack slant-
ing up or (final night in sleep’s
play a protracted crimson slide) sloping down
down homes walls homes
colleges, nobody building most effective
bombing, months of little in,
now nothing no person out, only
down: bodies arms legs in Gaza
wherein the eyeless man tore pillars
residence himself the people down
in this day, this birthday, I wish
myself for the primary time (who
could be a infant once more?) lower back
at that eating room table with
him, his years of little extra less
again, no longer as in the word in her
birthday e-book, died 84 yrs of age
snow rain ice
stand walk fall
little extra much less
face flesh hand
will is became
oh yes no
melt rain snow
Off the page, sliding or
I brush or don’t see
you, however without
you, so bloodless, colder
than stooped-by way of-age
shoulder, oh flesh, hand,
Love, come flip my page.
Tempered by using age, ardour, rage
cool, no lost sleep—
at the same time as in sleep
they burn once more, your first-class hand
igniting my thigh, stay birds
overwhelmed under my ft,
morning grays once more, aged
lower back, writing died… of age
As frame to body fall-
ing collectively we burn
again, snow drifts
in air, turns, rolls
takes its very own slow
day off from falling
Gun to body, shell to frame, bombs
to our bodies:
3, 5, now nine
hundred our bodies, over two hundred
youngsters’s our bodies,
over the border
to Gaza to shut the already closed
not to meet, border to border:
a border has no frame, is most effective a facet.
Epiphany overlooked, now not the visible but the coming
to look, or famous person, the minister stated, light sensed
towards the darkish, but now not even the darkish
night, or the bloodless bright, snow
roof over the roof under the darkness
earlier than— only gray, business gunmetal
battleship slate gray, and the coming of gray
pal Sleep has betrayed me I’m trapped
in a citadel with villainess villain
doorways open a 3rd slams down earlier than
the darkness I’m trapped in a room my
pals accuse me I disguise my sheets I can’t
inform them I’m dying and then awaking I’m
hurting (why those goals?) my betraying self
In sleep a holocaust rations trapped
in a kitchen ovens coming why no longer consume
them if meals is scarce—
In Gaza food
is scarce, power lost, the UN Compound,
a sanatorium hit these days, now over a thousand dead—
but see, right here, history: the destiny: some
desire, although nevertheless rationed, is Coming quickly.
stuck zipper sticky egg
wiped off mouth mom’s
mouth lined around but
pursed now closer why
now not devour contact once more all
proper merge again then
zip: placed sleep to sleep
today the educate too rapid
they said too quickly they
stated no longer but they stated
to Washington all
right now a black
man to the White
residence on the teach.
On his way to the Capitol largely built by means of slaves
who baked bricks, reduce, laid stone—
on his manner
to stand earlier than the Mall where slaves were held
in pens and bought—
on his manner to a White
house in part constructed by slaves, in which any other
resident, after his Proclamation, wrote:
If slavery isn’t wrong, not anything is inaccurate.
100 years later, King stated
and stated to the group at the Mall,
now could be the time and we can in no way
be glad so long as, he
dreamed: each valley
exalted, some of these years till
not an quit, they stated, a beginning
O bless preserve assist keep
him secure, permit him assist
us through this cold,
let us help him assist
us via this
cold, permit its quit be
O sure a beginning.
cold is within the air, troops are eventually out
of Gaza in which 1300 useless are on or in
the ground wherein olive trees are up-
rooted, down, spoons a coloring
e-book limbs footwear in the rubble—
in the depths of wintry weather, he said.
today he is In, at work.
White roof over the roof, white
branches clinging to branches, even
the nevertheless fallen snow is transferring, even
icicles shift toward dripping, nothing,
not even the bloodless our bodies we’re
becoming isn’t always moving, not even
the floor is not transferring, over, on
beyond my windowed
wall, grey clouds circulate over
beyond the Wall
that grays Gaza, dust
over dirt of disturbed
wall with drawn-
in home windows, winter mirror
cold heart consolation shoulder
ft fingers water drawn
in from left out
take live sober stone
grave nonetheless frame flip
on light open to
warm up the front coronary heart
fallen snow shifts
blows drifts from tree
to floor, leaves
the stunning skeletal
limbs open to handiest
throughout air wind
lifts then shall we fall
He stumbled however still, she blundered
however nevertheless, they said what they shouldn’t
have said and recovered, of route
they’re the outstanding but even the small
(though all, we early learn, may also fall)
may additionally go away the mistaken, misspoken
in the back of as late we stumble into our selves.
maybe not long, you said,
most cancers most cancers most cancers, c’s
crashing like waves—
waves of frozen foam
that day on that lake—
you who please don’t cross I
can late we i’m able to better Love I
mouth with you to mouth
with you to body with you
in frame embodied, no longer yet un-
bodied Love i can better no
room so heat as with—
I think I concept I ought to I
can however no longer with out you
In Vietnam: new year of the water buffalo,
regular, gradual, welcomed with peach
blossoms, culmination, pink wine—
In Gaza: 12 months of the brand new
battle, now ended however no room to bury
the dead, no location for the residing
to buy meals, water, any …
for the girl who chefs
on a fire of sticks, her bag
of clothes on a tree
for those going domestic
to water their timber, lemon
and almond and olive
and for the ones trees
snow to rain to ice to soften to
freeze body window grayed
in with vintage self identical however
new has come can better
Love I—going domestic bless maintain
smooth gray slate not white or black for
even those few phrases, this small rain
Pavane for the New Year
A baby wearing flora walks toward the new yr
a conductor tattooing darkness
listens to the shortest pause
hurry a lion into the cage of tune
hurry stone to masquerade as a recluse
transferring in parallel nights
who is the visitor? whilst the times all
tip from nests and fly down roads
the book of failure grows boundless and deep
every and each moment’s a shortcut
I comply with it thru the that means of the East
returning home, ultimate loss of life’s door
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A Pumpkin at New Year’s
Heads were rolling down the dual carriageway in excessive slat vehicles.
I knew it became time to buy you and discovered you,
The closing sphere unscarred and undistorted in the store,
huge as my very own head.
It turned into time too to depart you uncut and complete-featured,
just like the grandpa of twenty-5 pumpkins in my beyond,
Khrushchev-cheeked and residing on yourself,
notable knee of my early life.
I it seems that thought you will rot.
I remembered the fetor of other pumpkins,
Their blue populations popping out of hiding as if at the end
Of some apocalypse.
I devoted a day to studying up on minor cucurbits:
I learned your dozen names in African
And came home equipped to elevate or raze you,
fantastic of trade.
but thus far—eternity. I assume i would no longer like
Eternity, after I had used my senses up,
As I’ve attempted with you—fingertips dragging over your international
Pole to pole
until they move dead like explorers, nose cilia
Detecting your perfume extra sensitive than they—
And my persistence. It’s Christmas, it’s a brand new year
and i pay attention
Of a own family who’s saved you for 4 …
You undergo like count manufactured
And indeed your stem seems punched into your orange gathers
Like a button in a bed.
Shall I give you a room or a shrine? And shall I
buy you a mate and circle of relatives,
whilst ours is so insufficient, constant upon your window
Deathbed as we’re,
targeted upon a time and beginning, new excursion, new friends,
New pumpkins, celebrating when all
That has failed us has passed away.
you haven’t failed.
To the Garbage Collectors in Bloomington, Indiana, the First Pickup of the New Year
(the way bed is in winter, like an aproned lap,
like bushy mittens,
like adolescence crouching below tables)
The 9th Day of yuletide, within the morning black
out of doors our window: clattering cans, the whir
of a hopper, shouts, a whistle, move on …
I see them in my warm creativeness
the way I’ll see them later within the cold,
heaving the big cans and running
(strolling!) to the following residence on the street.
My vestiges of muscle stir
uneasily of their percale cocoon:
what movements those guys accessible, what
drives them going for walks to the next house and the subsequent?
midway back to dream, I speculate:
The Social Weal? “permit’s make accurate vintage
Bloomington a purifier region
to live in—proper, men? Hup, tha!”
healthful opposition? “Come on, boys,
allow’s burn up that path nowadays and beat the ones dudes
on truck 13!”
Enlightened Self-interest? “every other can,
another dollar—don’t slow down, Mac, I’m puttin’
3 children thru Princeton?”
Or something else?
A half of hour later, sunrise comes edging over
Clark avenue: layers of coloration, laid out like
a flattened rainbow—red, then yellow, green,
and over that the black-and-blue of night time
nonetheless placing on. Clark avenue maples wave
their silhouettes against the pink, and thru
the twiggy trees, I see a stable chew
of rubbish truck, and stick-figures of fellows,
like windup toys, tossing little cans—
All day they’ll move like that, till dark once more,
and all day, humans fussing at their desks,
at warm stoves, at machines, will jettison
tin cans, bare evergreens, damp Kleenex, all
things which can be Caesar’s.
O garbage guys,
the brand new year greets you want the vintage;
after this primary run you too may also rest
in beds like brilliant warm aproned laps
and realize that humans anywhere believe:
placing from them all things of this world,
they expectantly bide your 2nd coming.
New-year’s Eve and New-year’s Day
Properly bye, old year!
And with thee take
thanks for the gifts to every land
Thou broughtest in thy bounteous hand,
And all that thou hast taught to hearts thy lingering steps forsake.
good bye, vintage 12 months!
The beyond awaiteth thee.
Who ruleth in her electricity on my own
the kingdom of Oblivion.
Silent she sits in ebon chair;
Falling mists of dusky hair
Veil her darkish eyes’ glorious shine,
full of smart assist, and truth divine.
Silent, except a fitful sound,
As from some cavern underground,
scouse borrow from her lips; the enterprise
Of historic Years that spherical her be,
Then chanting, one at a time, supply tongue
To vintage revel in in their track.
Desirable bye, old 12 months!
Thou goest forth by myself,
As we shall do: thy pages homosexual,
Seasons and months who round thee lay,
Attend thee to Earth’s farthest verge, then lower back! to greet thy son.
Hail, New-born yr!
Cradled in morning clouds
Golden and white. I can not see
Thy face–’tis wrapp’d in mystery;
however Spring for thee is portray plants,
And summer time decks her woven bowers;
wealthy Autumn’s sheaves will quickly be gain’d,
With keep of culmination in sunbeams steep’d,
And one at a time with gentle hand folds again thy sunlit shrouds.
Hail, New-born 12 months!
Shining and delightful,
Thou wilt step forth in plenitude
Of children and its rejoicing mood.
closing baby of the half-century,
And time of coming victory
Over the spirits of night time and sin,
Whose howlings of defeat start:
Thou bringest desire, and labour bless’d
In visions of a success rest,
Bringest high-quality mind, and moves wrought
In hearth upon that forge of thought,
And with the soul of earnestness I assume thy youths are complete.
Hail, New-born year!
My utterance is too vulnerable
to tell of all I assume thou bringest,
To echo back the song thou singest;
however the very winds of Heaven for folks that listen to them, communicate!