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The Old Year
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John Clare (1920)
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The Old Year’s gone away
  To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
  Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
  In either shade or sun:
The last year he’d a neighbour’s face,
  In this he’s known by none.

All nothing everywhere:
  Mists we on mornings see
Have more of substance when they’re here
  And more of form than he.
He was a friend by every fire,
  In every cot and hall—
A guest to every heart’s desire,
  And now he’s nought at all.

Old papers thrown away,
  Old garments cast aside,
The talk of yesterday,
  Are things identified;
But time once torn away
  No voices can recall:
The eve of New Year’s Day
  Left the Old Year lost to all.
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Poetry

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