And tear the ermine robes that mock thee now
Like gilded fruit upon a blasted tree;
To-morrow comes! To-morrow, where are Thou?
"Wouldst thou be shrived, Old Year?
Thou subtle sentence of delusive Time,
Framed but to deepen all the mystery
Of Life's great purpose! Come, confess the crime,
And man's Divinity shall date from thee!
"Speak to my soul, Old Year;
Let but a star leave its bright eminence