Thomas Hardy — End of the Year 1912

You were here at his young beginning,        &nbsp You are not here at his agèd end; Off he coaxed you from Life’s mad spinning,        &nbsp Lest you should see his form extend        &nbsp       &nbsp Shivering, sighing,        &nbsp       &nbsp Slowly dying,        &nbsp And a tear on him expend. So it comes that we stand lonely        &nbsp In the star-lit avenue, Dropping broken lipwords only,        &nbsp For we hear no songs from you,        &nbsp       &nbsp Such as flew here        &nbsp       &nbsp For the new year        &nbsp Once, while six bells swung thereto.