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T
HE taper which has burned so well, for all the long year through, Is nearly finished, and 't is sad to bid a long adieu To it, because we learned to love its trusty light and fair, Because it never went quite out and left the darkness there. It blushes crimson at the thought, that serving at its best It must step down and out, "not unlike all the rest"; And still it feeds upon the food, which kept it warm and bright While young, so nigh twelve months ago, now giving way to night. Ah, no--not thus; because the blaze, when taking its last draft Surrenders into other hands the light for which it laughed, And meekly as a dying swan, that we may all remember It drifts along upon the night, which we term Old December. And while the new allures us on, in prospects bright with fancy We dream the dream of better days--ah, sweeter days from "Nancy" Who in her garb of deepest red, a "riddle" was her nose And termed as white, though long she stood, 't is said she shorter grows. And now, old friend, a long adieu--your history was blended With much of light and much of dark, therefore as it is ended We all will greet the glad New Year, on which in hope, we're fawning And while the good old light goes out, a brighter one is dawning. |