IV
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
· (no date)
Published 01/07/1880
Part of The Death of the Old Year
But all his merry quips are o'er.
To see him die, across the waste
His son and heir doth ride posthaste,
But he'll be dead before.
Every one for his own.
The night is starry and cold, my friend,
And the Newyear blithe and bold, my friend,
Comes up to take his own.