Old year, farewell !
Much have you given which was ill to bear :
Much have taken which was dear, so dear :
Much have you spoken which was ill to hear ;
Echoes of speech first uttered deep in hell.
Pass now like some grey harlot to the tomb !
Yet die in child-birth, and from out your womb
Leap the young year unsullied ! He perchance
Shall bring to man his lost inheritance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.