Poetry Archives

“WHO is this little one lying,”
  Said Time, “at my garden-gate,
Moaning and sobbing and crying,
  Out in the cold so late?”

“They lurked until we came near,
  Master and I,” the child said,
“Then caught me, with ‘Welcome, New-year!
  Happy Year! Golden-head!’

“See Christmas-day, my Master,
  On the meadow a mile away!
Father Time, make me run faster!
  I’m the Shadow of Christmas-day!”

“Run, my child; still he’s in sight!
  Only look well to his track;
Little Shadow, run like the light,
  He misses you at his back!”

Old Time sat down in the sun
  On a grave-stone—his legs were numb:
“When the boy to his master has run,”
  He said, “Heaven’s New Year is come!”