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Show THE DEATH" OF THE OLD YEAR. Full knee-deep lies the winter snow. And the winter winds are wearily slfh-Ine: slfh-Ine: Toll ye the church bell sad and slow, And tread toftly, and speak low, For the Old Yeur Ilea a-dylng. Old Year, you must not die; You came to us so readily, You lived with us no steadily, Old Year, you shall not die. Ills face is growing- sharp and thin, Alack) our friend Is none. Close up his eyes: tie up his chin; Step, from the corpre, nnd let him, In That standeth there alone, And walteth at the door, There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door. Alfred .Tennyson. |