Page:Poems (IA poemstennalfr00tennrich).pdf/166



kneedeep lies the winter snow, And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the churchbell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying. ⁠Old year, you must not die. ⁠You came to us so readily, ⁠You lived with us so steadily, ⁠Old year, you shall not die.