The Australian Dying Year.
Not in the winter of life
he dies,1
Chilled, and snowy, and old.2
In the glory of summer the Old Year dies,3
When the midnight chime is tolled.4
Not in the sky is a hint of death—5
A sky of infinite blue—6
Nor is there a sigh in the breezy breath7
That is playing the leaflets through.8
The cattle and birds to the shade retreat,9
In drowsy, still delight ;10
And flowers have scented the noon-day heat ;11
Yet the Old Year dies to-night.12
And the air is filled with the sound of bees,13
The humming of summer flies,14
And there’s joy in the sound of the rustling trees ;15
Yet to-night the Old Year dies.16
Not in the winter of life he dies,17
But in his summer’s prime ;18
His labours end, he stricken dies,19
And swells the ranks of Time.20