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Show 1 THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sigh, lng: Toll ye the church bell sad and slow. And tread softly, and speak low, For the Old Year lies a-dylng. Old Year, you must not die; You, came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old Year, vou shall not die. His face is growing sherp and thin, Alack! our friend Is gone. , Close up his eyes; tie up his chtn; Step from the corpse, and let him In That standeth there alone. And walteth at tho 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. |