Classic Poem

They bid me welcome in the proud New Year,
Crowned with delight, his Minister the Sun—
Monarch, whose sumptuous reign has just begun:
Nay, I am deaf—their shouts I do not hear—
I miss a voice that long ago was dear;
A tender voice, whose lightest call had won
My ear, my heart, my life, till life were done:—
That voice is silent—theirs I will not hear.

A little bird that finds the winter cold
Comes out, and looks at me, and sings of him
Who made the vanished summers warm; and, bold
With sorrow, calls the New Year's splendor dim.
Nay, bird, he is gone far who used to sing;
And days, and months, and years no message bring.