Before The Gate of Storms

Before the gate of storms two dim shapes met:
[Cold are the winds when December flies;]
The one was robed in weeds of sad regret,
But saw the shining of the other's eyes.


Then he who wore the seal of sorrows great:
[Dark are the nights when December goes;]
"Alas! who art thou, that with face elate
Peerest so eagerly through whirling snows?"


Clear rang the other's answer in his ear:
[Crisp are the snows when December speeds;]
"I am the spirit of the coming year;
My name is Hope, and always hope succeeds."


Slow turned the sad one from before the gate:
[Shadows are black when December parts;]
"O eager one, within the future wait
Thy coming, pain and woe and broken hearts.


I am the spirit of the going year;
[Sad are the hours when December flies;]
My name is Loss, and me all men do fear,
For in my bosom twelve months' anguish lies!"