A duologue of the years


January 1, 1914
You are old, Nineteen-Thirteen, the Young Year said,
And it’s time you were snugly asleep,
But your face is tear-damp and your fingers
are red,
Come, dip them where Lethe is deep.
In the days of my youth, Nineteen-Thirteen
replied,
I was dapper and clean as nut;
But the day when Miss Fortune I took for my
bride,
By all my old friends I was out.

You are old, Nineteen-Thirteen, the Young
Year mused,
And days should teach wisdom, they say;
Then why is your cheek with the shame-blush
suffused?
And why are you hustled away?
In the days of my youth, Nineteen-Thirteen
rejoined,
I was wowed to the service of men;
But I worked at the mint where excuses are
coined,
And slept in a sweating-slum den.
You are old, Nineteen-Thirteen, and one would
suppose
There was something deserving of thanks,
But, to judge by the papers, the older one
grows,
The more is cumbered with cranks.

You are young, Nineteen-Fourteen, the Old
Year sighed,
And I leave you a heritage fine;
You will blunder, no doubt, but let Love be
your guide,
And your end will be fairer than mine.
– A.W. in the “Daily Chronicle.”
(Liverpool Echo: January 1, 1914)

Nineteen Thirteen
1913

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