When the new year by Rg Gregory

New Year is the time when everyone’s heart fills up with hope about a better tomorrow.

It is the time when the world is all in praise about the upcoming year and spins their hopes and aspirations around it, the expectation is that no matter how high the world pins their hope the new year would keep up to it.

However, time takes its natural progression – each New Year sees its fair share of ebbs and tides. It is then that the same world becomes the ferocious critics of the same New Year they have been going gaga over before a couple of weeks.

In the poem When the New Year by RG Gregory, the poet reminds that people should try to always keep up to their words in their actions too. The poet also is perhaps trying to remind the world at large about the virtues of patience and perseverance, and also of standing by life through the thick and thin.

when the new year
came out of nowhere
and peeped into rooms
it was so flattered to find
all the tv’s drinking its health
praising its innocent appearance
it responded with its warm
dark smile and went round
filling people’s dry hearts
with joyover the coming weeks though
those same tv’s attacked it
criticising its puerile style
its sickly contemptible face
one year is the same as another
(they said) for the doom
time belabours us with
it took the year all
its length to discover
that the celebration
so welcoming its birth
just happened to be
where the beer was

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The Auld Farmer’s New-Year-Morning Salutation to his Auld Mare, Maggie

In his “The Auld Farmer’s New-Year-Morning Salutation to his Auld Mare, Maggie” by Robert Burns the poet takes the tune of an old timer Scottish farmer and in a beautiful manner brings out the relationship that the said farmer has with his old mare, and how he greets his old mare on the occasion of the New Year.

Robert Barns is known for his love of nature. He works spoke to staying close to nature and to appreciate the gifts that nature sends us. In a beautiful manner the poet expresses the relationship that the farmer has shared over all these years with his beloved beast.

In this manner the poet tries to establish the bonding that a man shares with his domesticated animals – a bonding that is not only an integral part of the Scottish farming culture but also an indispensible part that forms the backbone of any agrarian society.

This also teaches an essence of life – to stand by your keen through thick and thin, just as the old mare was devoted to the farmer through ebbs and flows of life.

A GUID New-year I wish thee, Maggie!
Hae, tHere’s a ripp to thy auld baggie:
Tho’ thou’s howe-backit now, an’ knaggie,
I’ve seen the day
Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie,
Out-owre the lay.Tho’ now thou’s dowie, stiff, an’ crazy,
An’ thy auld hide as white’s a daisie,
I’ve seen thee dappl’t, sleek an’ glaizie,
A bonie gray:
He should been tight that daur’t to raize thee,
Ance in a day.Thou ance was i’ the foremost rank,
A filly buirdly, steeve, an’ swank;
An’ set weel down a shapely shank,
As e’er tread yird;
An’ could hae flown out-owre a stank,
Like ony bird.

It’s now some nine-an’-twenty year,
Sin’ thou was my guid-father’s mear;
He gied me thee, o’ tocher clear,
An’ fifty mark;
Tho’ it was sma’, ’twas weel-won gear,
An’ thou was stark.

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny,
Ye then was trotting wi’ your minnie:
Tho’ ye was trickie, slee, an’ funnie,
Ye ne’er was donsie;
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an’ cannie,
An’ unco sonsie.

That day, ye pranc’d wi’ muckle pride,
When ye bure hame my bonie bride:
An’ sweet an’ gracefu’ she did ride,
Wi’ maiden air!
Kyle-Stewart I could bragged wide
For sic a pair.

Tho’ now ye dow but hoyte and hobble,
An’ wintle like a saumont coble,
That day, ye was a jinker noble,
For heels an’ win’!
An’ ran them till they a’ did wauble,
Far, far, behin’!

When thou an’ I were young an’ skeigh,
An’ stable-meals at fairs were dreigh,
How thou wad prance, and snore, an’ skreigh
An’ tak the road!
Town’s-bodies ran, an’ stood abeigh,
An’ ca’t thee mad.

When thou was corn’t, an’ I was mellow,
We took the road aye like a swallow:
At brooses thou had ne’er a fellow,
For pith an’ speed;
But ev’ry tail thou pay’t them hollow,
Whare’er thou gaed.

The sma’, droop-rumpl’t, hunter cattle
Might aiblins waur’t thee for a brattle;
But sax Scotch mile, thou try’t their mettle,
An’ gar’t them whaizle:
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle
O’ saugh or hazel.

Thou was a noble fittie-lan’,
As e’er in tug or tow was drawn!
Aft thee an’ I, in aught hours’ gaun,
In guid March-weather,
Hae turn’d sax rood beside our han’,
For days thegither.

Thou never braing’t, an’ fetch’t, an’ fliskit;
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit,
An’ spread abreed thy weel-fill’d brisket,
Wi’ pith an’ power;
Till sprittie knowes wad rair’t an’ riskit
An’ slypet owre.

When frosts lay lang, an’ snaws were deep,
An’ threaten’d labour back to keep,
I gied thy cog a wee bit heap
Aboon the timmer:
I ken’d my Maggie wad na sleep,
For that, or simmer.

In cart or car thou never reestit;
The steyest brae thou wad hae fac’t it;
Thou never lap, an’ sten’t, and breastit,
Then stood to blaw;
But just thy step a wee thing hastit,
Thou snoov’t awa.

My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a’,
Four gallant brutes as e’er did draw;
Forbye sax mae I’ve sell’t awa,
That thou hast nurst:
They drew me thretteen pund an’ twa,
The vera warst.

Mony a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,
An’ wi’ the weary warl’ fought!
An’ mony an anxious day, I thought
We wad be beat!
Yet here to crazy age we’re brought,
Wi’ something yet.

An’ think na’, my auld trusty servan’,
That now perhaps thou’s less deservin,
An’ thy auld days may end in starvin;
For my last fow,
A heapit stimpart, I’ll reserve ane
Laid by for you.

We’ve worn to crazy years thegither;
We’ll toyte about wi’ ane anither;
Wi’ tentie care I’ll flit thy tether
To some hain’d rig,
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather,
Wi’ sma’ fatigue.

More New Year Poems

Sketch – New Year’s Day, 1790

“Sketch – New Year’s Day, 1790” by Robert Burns is one of the classic examples of poetry that marks the literary style of the poet. The content of the poetry is very simple.

It is a sketch of the Dunlop family and the saga of their life that the poet portrays in a hasty manner that seems almost impromptu.

Even then the poetry marks all the classical qualities that the literary critics associate with the works of Robert Burns like the spontaneous and direct approach, a wide range of emotions from a very low point to a very high pitch, sincerity and tenderness of thoughts.

Because of the sensitivity of his nature that gets reflected in his writings Burns is often labeled as one of the pioneers to establish a style rampant in the Romantic Era of English Literature even prior to its commencement. In this poem the poet perceives the New Year to be another span of twelve months where man would have to keep up the struggle for existence.

THIS day, Time winds th’ exhausted chain;
To run the twelvemonth’s length again:
I see, the old bald-pated fellow,
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,
Adjust the unimpair’d machine,
To wheel the equal, dull routine.The absent lover, minor heir,
In vain assail him with their prayer;
Deaf as my friend, he sees them press,
Nor makes the hour one moment less,
Will you (the Major’s with the hounds,
The happy tenants share his rounds;
Coila’s fair Rachel’s care to-day,
And blooming Keith’s engaged with Gray)
From housewife cares a minute borrow,
(That grandchild’s cap will do to-morrow,)
And join with me a-moralizing;
This day’s propitious to be wise in.First, what did yesternight deliver?
“Another year has gone for ever.”
And what is this day’s strong suggestion?
“The passing moment’s all we rest on!”
Rest on—for what? what do we here?
Or why regard the passing year?
Will Time, amus’d with proverb’d lore,
Add to our date one minute more?
A few days may—a few years must—
Repose us in the silent dust.
Then, is it wise to damp our bliss?
Yes—all such reasonings are amiss!
The voice of Nature loudly cries,
And many a message from the skies,
That something in us never dies:
That on his frail, uncertain state,
Hang matters of eternal weight:
That future life in worlds unknown
Must take its hue from this alone;
Whether as heavenly glory bright,
Or dark as Misery’s woeful night.

Since then, my honour’d first of friends,
On this poor being all depends,
Let us th’ important now employ,
And live as those who never die.
Tho’ you, with days and honours crown’d,
Witness that filial circle round,
(A sight life’s sorrows to repulse,
A sight pale Envy to convulse),
Others now claim your chief regard;
Yourself, you wait your bright reward.

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Ring Out, Wild Bells

As we ring in the New Year with much pomp and fanfare the touching poetry ‘Ring Out Wild Bells’ by Lord Alfred Tennyson reminds of the transitional nature of life and also of the world at large, of which transition of the old year to the New Year is also a part.

It is the custom that with each passing year all that is old would pave way for all that is new. In fact this is the philosophy of life and death cycle as well which forms an integral part of human existence. In this poem the poet hopes that whatever transition takes place should be in a positive direction.

Ringing out in the title of the poem itself is suggestive of bidding adieu to the old year and welcoming the New Year. The poem that was published in 1850 still holds water even in this century because of the universal nature of the message it conveys and the hope of positivity that it evokes.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind,For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in navyress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

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ON THE NEW YEAR by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“On The New Year” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was published in the year 1804. However if you look around then you shall be intrigued by an interesting fact – the prologue to the poem says that the poem was composed by Goethe on the occasion of parties that were hosted at the poet’s house during the course of the year 1802.

The theme of the poem is very positive and as such it is not difficult to guess that the parties that were held have been merry ones. The original name of the poem is “Zum neuen Jahr” and it was first published in Taschenbuch auf das Jahr in the aforementioned year under the editorship of Wieland and Goethe.

Goethe’s principle in life was to acquire the most out of each moment that he lived, and the poetry is a candid reflection of the poet’s zest and zeal for life. Goethe was eager to live each day of his life king size, and naturally thought of sharing the same enthusiasm with his guests at the party.

What we sing in company
Soon from heart to heart will fly.

THE Gesellige Lieder, which I have angicisled 
as above, as several of them cannot be called convivial songs, are 
separated by Goethe from his other songs, and I have adhered to 
the same arrangement. The Ergo bibamus is a well-known drinking 
song in Germany, where it enjoys vast popularity.


[Composed for a merry party that used to meet, 
in 1802, at Goethe’s house.]

FATE now allows us,

‘Twixt the departing

And the upstarting,
Happy to be;
And at the call of

Memory cherish’d,

Future and perish’d
Moments we see.

Seasons of anguish,–

Ah, they must ever

Truth from woe sever,
Love and joy part;
Days still more worthy

Soon will unite us,

Fairer songs light us,
Strength’ning the heart.

We, thus united,

Think of, with gladness,

Rapture and sadness,
Sorrow now flies.
Oh, how mysterious

Fortune’s direction!

Old the connection,

New-born the prize!

Thank, for this, Fortune,

Wavering blindly!

Thank all that kindly
Fate may bestow!
Revel in change’s

Impulses clearer,

Love far sincerer,
More heartfelt glow!

Over the old one,

Wrinkles collected,

Sad and dejected,
Others may view;
But, on us gently

Shineth a true one,

And to the new one
We, too, are new.

As a fond couple

‘Midst the dance veering,

First disappearing,
Then reappear,
So let affection

Guide thro’ life’s mazy

Pathways so hazy
Into the year!


– By Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

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New Year’s Morning by Helen Hunt Jackson

“New Year’s Morning” by Helen Hunt Jackson is an inspirational poetry and the team at 123NewYear chose it to present before you for a motivating beginning to the brand New Year.

This poetry makes a wonderful prelude for the New Year to roll in. When we talk of evenings, it creates in our mind a notion of glitz and glamour. It is the time to have fun and party with family and friends, especially if it is the New Year’s Eve.

However, mornings are for the opportunities and new endeavors. It is futile to fret over what has gone by or what could have been done in the days gone by. It is also futile to blame fate for all that has happened in the last year.

As the New Year gushes in with a plethora of new opportunities, there is a chance to make it big all over again. Instead of crying over split milk, the poet encourages mankind to take each day as a new beginning and reach out for the stars.

Only a night from old to new!
Only a night, and so much wrought!
The Old Year’s heart all weary grew,
But said: The New Year rest has brought.”
The Old Year’s hopes its heart laid down,
As in a grave; but trusting, said:
“The blossoms of the New Year’s crown
Bloom from the ashes of the dead.”
The Old Year’s heart was full of greed;
With selfishness it longed and ached,
And cried: “I have not half I need.
My thirst is bitter and unslaked.
But to the New Year’s generous hand
All gifts in plenty shall return;
True love it shall understand;
By all y failures it shall learn.
I have been reckless; it shall be
Quiet and calm and pure of life.
I was a slave; it shall go free,
And find sweet pace where I leave strife.”Only a night from old to new!
Never a night such changes brought.
The Old Year had its work to do;
No New Year miracles are wrought.Always a night from old to new!
Night and the healing balm of sleep!
Each morn is New Year’s morn come true,
Morn of a festival to keep.
All nights are sacred nights to make
Confession and resolve and prayer;
All days are sacred days to wake
New gladness in the sunny air.
Only a night from old to new;
Only a sleep from night to morn.
The new is but the old coem true;
Each sunrise sees a new year born.

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New Year’s Eve by Robert William Service

It’s cruel cold on the water-front, silent and dark and drear;
Only the black tide weltering, only the hissing snow;
And I, alone, like a storm-tossed wreck, on this night of the glad New Year,
Shuffling along in the icy wind, ghastly and gaunt and slow.

They’re playing a tune in McGuffy’s saloon, and it’s cheery and bright in there
(God! but I’m weak — since the bitter dawn, and never a bite of food);
I’ll just go over and slip inside — I mustn’t give way to despair —
Perhaps I can bum a little booze if the boys are feeling good.

They’ll jeer at me, and they’ll sneer at me, and they’ll call me a whiskey soak;
(“Have a drink? Well, thankee kindly, sir, I don’t mind if I do.”)
A drivelling, dirty, gin-joint fiend, the butt of the bar-room joke;
Sunk and sodden and hopeless — “Another? Well, here’s to you!”

McGuffy is showing a bunch of the boys how Bob Fitzsimmons hit;
The barman is talking of Tammany Hall, and why the ward boss got fired.
I’ll just sneak into a corner and they’ll let me alone a bit;
The room is reeling round and round . . .O God! but I’m tired, I’m tired. . . .

* * * * *

Roses she wore on her breast that night. Oh, but their scent was sweet!
Alone we sat on the balcony, and the fan-palms arched above;
The witching strain of a waltz by Strauss came up to our cool retreat,
And I prisoned her little hand in mine, and I whispered my plea of love.

Then sudden the laughter died on her lips, and lowly she bent her head;
And oh, there came in the deep, dark eyes a look that was heaven to see;
And the moments went, and I waited there, and never a word was said,
And she plucked from her bosom a rose of red and shyly gave it to me.

Then the music swelled to a crash of joy, and the lights blazed up like day,
And I held her fast to my throbbing heart, and I kissed her bonny brow.
“She is mine, she is mine for evermore!” the violins seemed to say,
And the bells were ringing the New Year in — O God! I can hear them now.

Don’t you remember that long, last waltz, with its sobbing, sad refrain?
Don’t you remember that last good-by, and the dear eyes dim with tears?
Don’t you remember that golden dream, with never a hint of pain,
Of lives that would blend like an angel-song in the bliss of the coming years?

Oh, what have I lost! What have I lost! Ethel, forgive, forgive!
The red, red rose is faded now, and it’s fifty years ago.
‘Twere better to die a thousand deaths than live each day as I live!
I have sinned, I have sunk to the lowest depths — but oh, I have suffered so!

Hark! Oh, hark! I can hear the bells! . . . Look! I can see her there,
Fair as a dream . . . but it fades . . . And now — I can hear the dreadful hum
Of the crowded court . . . See! the Judge looks down . . .
NOT GUILTY, my Lord, I swear . . .
The bells — I can hear the bells again! . . . Ethel, I come, I come! . . .

* * * * *

“Rouse up, old man, it’s twelve o’clock. You can’t sleep here, you know.
Say! ain’t you got no sentiment? Lift up your muddled head;
Have a drink to the glad New Year, a drop before you go —
You darned old dirty hobo . . . My God! Here, boys! He’s DEAD!”

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New Year’s Chimes by Francis Thompson

New Year’s Chimes by Francis Thompson is a profound work of literature that is simple in its essence. This is the greatness of the poet who can speak of something so deep rooted in a manner so lucid.

In this poem is seems as if the poet is trying to unveil the mysteries of the universe in a simplistic manner that is so typical of Francis Thompson’s writings. He never thought he should have to explain himself before his readers for he was intellectually intricate yet simple in the manner in which his words flew.

His attention to details is also what moves the readers. Many philosophers have large ideas that are beyond comprehension of the common people. Again some philosophers deal with such minute ideas that common people fail to get the point.

But Thompson could stay within these two extremes and as such became a writer who never took the understanding prowess of the common man for granted – he was ever to humble to think that the common man needed to be explained his ideas for comprehension.

What is the song the stars sing?
(And a million songs are as song of one)
This is the song the stars sing:
(Sweeter song’s none)One to set, and many to sing,
(And a million songs are as song of one)
One to stand, and many to cling,
The many things, and the one Thing,
The one that runs not, the many that run.The ever new weaveth the ever old,
(And a million songs are as song of one)
Ever telling the never told;
The silver saith, and the said is gold,
And done ever the never done.

The chase that’s chased is the Lord o’ the chase,
(And a million songs are as song of one)
And the pursued cries on the race;
And the hounds in leash are the hounds that run.

Hidden stars by the shown stars’ sheen:
(And a million suns are but as one)
Colours unseen by the colours seen,
And sounds unheard heard sounds between,
And a night is in the light of the sun.

An ambuscade of lights in night,
(And a million secrets are but as one)
And anight is dark in the sun’s light,
And a world in the world man looks upon.

Hidden stars by the shown stars’ wings,
(And a million cycles are but as one)
And a world with unapparent strings
Knits the stimulant world of things;
Behold, and vision thereof is none.

The world above in the world below,
(And a million worlds are but as one)
And the One in all; as the sun’s strength so
Strives in all strength, glows in all glow
Of the earth that wits not, and man thereon.

Braced in its own fourfold embrace
(And a million strengths are as strength of one)
And round it all God’s arms of grace,
The world, so as the Vision says,
Doth with great lightning-tramples run.

And thunder bruiteth into thunder,
(And a million sounds are as sound of one)
From stellate peak to peak is tossed a voice of wonder,
And the height stoops down to the depths thereunder,
And sun leans forth to his brother-sun.

And the more ample years unfold
(With a million songs as song of one)
A little new of the ever old,
A little told of the never told,
Added act of the never done.

Loud the descant, and low the theme,
(A million songs are as song of one)
And the dream of the world is dream in dream,
But the one Is is, or nought could seem;
And the song runs round to the song begun.

This is the song the stars sing,
(Tonèd all in time)
Tintinnabulous, tuned to ring
A multitudinous-single thing
(Rung all in rhyme).

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NEW YEAR POEM by Barry Tebb

New Year Poem by Barry Tebb would touch your heart for its motivational spirit, simple language and the very sweet and effortless rhyming that is sure to tug the heart strings of readers of all age and cross section.

The 123NewYear team thinks this to be an apt one to read at the onset of a New Year because of the simple reason that the poem begins with a strong nudge to look beyond what is negative and try to change things for the positive.

The poet here sets an example saying that he has never found it worthwhile to keep harping on something not so good that happened in the past, but just consider it to be a learning experience and perhaps just a cause for temporary irritation, and then simply move on by learning from the mistakes of the past and converting them into sources of inspiration that nudges you to reach for what is best, for each New Year is like “a gift to you” that gives you the opportunity to start afresh.

Rejection doesn’t lead me to dejectionBut to inspiration via irritation

Or at least to a bit of naughty new year wit-

Oh Isn’t it a shame my poetry’s not tame

Like Rupert’s or Jay’s – I never could

Get into their STRIDE just to much pride

To lick the arses of the poetry-of-earthers

Or the sad lady who runs KATABASIS from the back

Of a bike, gets shouted at by rude parkies

And writing huffy poems to prove it…

Oh to be acceptable and


Like Lavinia or Jo

With double spreads

And a glossy colour photo

Instead I’m stuck in a bus queue at Morden

London’s meridian point of zero imagination

Actually it’s a bit like ACUMEN with the Oxleys

Boasting about their 150,000 annual submissions-

If what they print’s the best God help the rest…)

At least my Christmas post had – instead of a card

From Jeremy Reed – his ELEGY FOR DAVID GASCOYNE –

The best poem I’ve had by post in forty years

And Jeremy’s best to date in my estimate –

The English APOLLINAIRE – your ZONE, your SONG

OF THE BADLY LOVED – sitting in a cafe in South End Green

I send you this poem, Jeremy, sight unseen,

A new year’s gift to you, pushing through

To star galaxies still unmapped and to you, BW,

Sonneteer of silence, huddled in the fourth month

Of your outdoor vigil, measuring in blood, tears and rain

Your syllable count in hour-glass of pain.

– By Barry Tebb

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New Year’s Eve by David Herbert Lawrence

New Year’s Eve by David Herbert Lawrence ranks as one of his most celebrated works and critics have also categorized it to be one of the most sensual romantic poetry.

Well, we should not be surprised by this for Lawrence is known for his intense and intimate romantic writings. New Year is the time to spread love, and D. H. Lawrence in his most celebrated style weaves his magic with words that connect a story which almost seems to be a historical narration, or perhaps a confession by a man who is facing various nuances of emotions as he comes into himself.

This is a poetry that communicates Lawrence’s passion without any veneer. His direct words make the readers’ heart heave with longing – a longing for love, a longing to love and to be loved – and what better gift can a New Year bring to anyone than the gift of intense and passionate love! Lawrence’s intensity of emotions almost seem contagious in this poem.

There are only two things now,
The great black night scooped out
And this fireglow.

This fireglow, the core,
And we the two ripe pips
That are held in store.

Listen, the darkness rings
As it circulates round our fire.
Take off your things.

Your shoulders, your bruised throat!
You breasts, your nakedness!
This fiery coat!

As the darkness flickers and dips,
As the firelight falls and leaps
From your feet to your lips!

– By David Herbert Lawrence

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