Behind a vail; or, like a coin to seal
The lids of Time's last-born to majesty,
Touched with the darkness of a hidden Leal.
"Mark where yon shadow crawls
By slow degrees beneath the window-sill,
Timed by the death-watch, ticking slow and dull;
The tide of night is rising, black and still—
Old Year, thou diest when 'tis at its full!
"Ay! moan and moan again,
And shake all Nature in thine agony,