The Old Year

by John Clare

Art by Walter Crane

The Old Year's gone away

To nothingness and night:

We cannot find him all the day

Nor hear him in the night:

He left no footstep, mark or place

In either shade or sun:

The last year he'd a neighbour's face,

In this he's known by none.

All nothing everywhere:

Mists we on mornings see

Have more of substance when they're here

And more of form than he.

He was a friend by every fire,

In every cot and hall--

A guest to every heart's desire,

And now he's nought at all.

Old papers thrown away,

Old garments cast aside,

The talk of yesterday,

Are things identified;

But time once torn away

No voices can recall:

The eve of New Year's Day

Left the Old Year lost to all.