New Year, 1918

As Father Time came speeding where I stood, I boldly grasped him by the scanty forelock Exactly as the proverb says you should, And thus apostrophized the ancient warlock: 'Disclose to me, my over hasty friend, Diminishing your zeal for whizzing past one, The sort of New Year that you mean to send; We didn't altogether like the last one.' He stared at me with eyes of glacial blue: 'A New Year!' laughed the hoary planet rover. 'We don't send New Years to the likes of you; The best you get are Old Years, furbished over! 'The Year that last you hailed, with crazy din, The new-born hope of what you term your own age, Was dragged from dark Oblivion's dusty bin- A slightly altered relic of the Stone Age!' 'Then, Time,' I cried, 'let now the Fates remold A gladder New Year! Let their hands refashion A healing twelve month from the AGe of Gold, For Earth is sick of hatred, woe, and passion!' Wan Chronos looked half tenderly, and then- I woke. Above the hills the sun was climbing; And strong men rose and strove to bring again The Age of Gold- and I sat down to rhyming.