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THE
old year is over, as breaketh
A wave on the ocean of Time,
When with impotent fury it shaketh
Its white foaming crest on the slime
Of a ponderous rock, and old Chronos
Laughs at it, beating in vain;
Grinding slowly – how slowly – the bulwarks
Of Eternity's reign.
And
out of the distance there showeth
Another long ridge of white spray,
How proud in the sunlight it groweth,
And swells in its new-dawnèd day!
And though all its beating and dashing
No yielding in Chronos can find,
Behold how it tosses the flotsam
Of feeble mankind!
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