How beautiful the turning of the year!A moment artificial yet profound:Point upon an arbitrary chartPassing like a breath upon the heart,Yearning with anticipation wound,New hope new harbored in old-fashioned cheer.Even when the boundary line is clear,We recognize the oneness of the ground.Years, like circles, do not end or startExcept we lay across their truth our art,Adjusting dates as they go round and roundRevolving to a tune long sung and dear.
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