In the gruesome night and the wintry weather,
I watched two dear friends die,
And I buried them both in one grave together.
Oh! who is so sad as I?
For the old love, and the old year,
They both have passed away;
And I never can find the old cheer
Come what will or may.
I heard the bell in the tall church steeple
Clang out a joyful strain.
And I thought, 'Of all the great world's people,
I have the bitterest pain.'
For the old year was a good year,
And the old love was sweet;
And how could my heart hold any cheer
When both lay dead at my feet.
Life may smile and the skies may brighten,
Winter will pass with its snows;
Grief will wane and the burden lighten--
And June will come with the rose.
But it cannot bring the old cheer
To fill my empty breast;
For the old year was the one year,
And the old love was best.
Yesterdays. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1916.
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