James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
January 1The Last of the New Years Callers
By Henry Cuyler Bunner (18551896)
T
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?
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.
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, She 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 not she greet him with her mother’s smile?
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 shut.