"Lo, I will give him gold, and he
Shall sell me brain as it were bread!
His very soul I'll hold in fee
For baubles that shall buy the hand
Of the coldest woman in the land!"
Spirit sore,
The Old Year cared to see no more;
While, as he turned, he heard a moan—
Frosty and keen was the wintry night—
Prone on the marble paving-stone,