The door is shut—I think the fine old face Trembles a little, round the under lip; His look is wistful—can it be the place Where, at his knock, the bolt was quick to slip (It had a knocker then), when, bravely decked, He took, of New Year's, with his lowest bow. His glass of egg-nog, white and nutmeg-flecked, From her who is—where is the young bride now? O Greenwood, answer! Through your ample gate There went a hearse, these many years ago; And often by a grave—more oft of late— Stands an old gentleman, with hair like snow. Two graves he stands by, truly; for the friend Who won her, long has lain beside his wife; And their old comrade, waiting for the end, Remembers what they were to him in life. And now he stands before the old-time door, A little gladdened in his lonely heart To give of love for those that are no more To those that live to-day a generous part. Ay, @3She@1 has gone, sweet, loyal, brave, and gay— But then, her daughter's grown and wed the while; And the old custom lingers: New Year's Day, Will she not greet him with her mother's smile? But things are changed, ah, things are changed you see; We keep no New Year's, now, not we— It's an old-time day, And an old-time way, And an old-time fashion we've chosen to cut— And the dear old man May wait as he can In front of the old-time door that's @3shut.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ENGLISH MOTHER by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON EARLY RISING by JOHN GODFREY SAXE TO SLEEP, WHEN SICK OF A FEVER by PHILIP AYRES HA! HA! HO! HO! by BERTON BRALEY FANTASIA IN E MINOR by ELIZABETH BUSH VERSES: THE FIFTH BOY by JOHN BYROM ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |