One new year's eve

Heart! art thou dead within me? Why this calm

To see thy joy die with the dying year?

When more is fact than ever thou didst fear

Of all thou would'st not have of hurt and harm;

When less than thou hadst pictured is of balm

In uttermost surrender; when more dear

Seems that thou hast surrendered, now and here,

Than ever aught before? Why no alarm

To face the blank black morning of tomorrow

With not one partisan for thine own sorrow?

Why canst thou smile, O silly heart! to see

The cold strewn ruin of the life of thee?

Haply yet more than love's dear joy lies dead,

Thy very self of self that suffered?