Explore "Ghosts of the Old Year" by James Weldon Johnson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The snow has ceased its fluttering flight, / The wind sunk to a whisper light, / An ominous stillness fills the night, / A pause -- a hush.
At last, a sound that breaks the spell, / Loud, clanging mouthings of a bell, / That through the silence peal and swell, / And roll, and rush.
What does this brazen tongue declare, / That falling on the midnight air / Brings to my heart a sense of care / Akin to fright?
'Tis telling that the year is dead, / The New Year come, the Old Year fled, / Another leaf before me spread / On which to write.
It tells the deeds that were not done, / It tells of races never run, / Of victories that were not won, / Barriers unleaped.
It tells of many a squandered day, / Of slighted gems and treasured clay, / Of precious stores not laid away, / Of fields unreaped.
And so the years go swiftly by, / Each, coming, brings ambitions high, / And each, departing, leaves a sigh / Linked to the past.
Large resolutions, little deeds;
Thus, filled with aims unreached, life speeds / Until the blotted record reads, / "Failure! " at last.