Then, too, the Old Year dieth,
And the forests utter a moan,
Like the voice of one who crieth
In the wilderness alone,

"Vex not his ghost!"

Midnight Mass for the Dying Year.

L'ENVOI.

Nor will I vainly question

Those pages of the mystic book, which hold
The story still untold,

But without rash conjecture or suggestion
Turn its last leaves in reverence and good heed,
Until "The End" I read.

Palingenesis.

A.

B.

C.