New Year's Eve

'New Year's Eve' is a poem brilliantly written by Robert W. Service. Through the poem, Robert brings forth the tragic beauty of human life. Robert uses a very old man as a metaphor for the old year that fades away or dies as the New Year steps in. The poem revolves around this old man who represents the frayed old year and who on New Year's Eve remembers his younger years when he used to celebrate New Year with his beloved. The poem can also be referred to as a satire on the uncertainty or ambiguity of the life cycle. The poem gives out a clear message that we are also an integral part of the cycle of change and that change will be celebrated by the world even when we will not be there to experience it. In order to learn more about the beautiful message that the poem has to convey, read through the New Year's Eve poem below.

New Year's Eve
It's cruel cold on the waterfront, 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 McGuffey'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!"

McGuffey 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!"