These ends, pedestrian beginnings clearly seen from bloated pasts and miles
Expressed in days as chapters’ peopled souls I never meant to meet
And whom I surely will forget. These months must end as presently they greet
Me as this last one has as even now their coming cousins swell in all my trials
And comforts in these last days of the year. Destinies in time are worn. Surely,
Material brick and straw of yet another era’s eulogy, some stillborn edifice
To be erected howsoever in the coming hours’ awakened, duly braced
To house the maidenhead of still greater powers and accolades. So purely
These and those before provide a common pageant as prologue
To my latter verses, carefully revised, well advised, and those
That in the worlds to come will never end nor nor close.
I engage them all with me today, their homeliness and fragrances, simple songs
Hemmed in soft refrains. Their flavours form the coronets of current themes,
Embroidered borders of what it is I seem to be and what cannot be seen.