His book a little while, sick of the tale,
Careless a moment how the plot may run,
Indifferent to the part he has perused,
Then with new interest going back to find
How fared it with the story’s people, so
Here at the gate of this new year I stand.
Weary we grew long since, my Comrade soul!
So tired we are of all our eyes have found,
So strong our yearning for new sights and sounds!
Yet on this morn the world is fair again,—