Then out through the gates of the midnight—
      The door of the past was ajar—
      His robe like a shroud wrapped around him,
      The Old Year vanished afar.
And as morn with her soft rosy fingers
      Flung open the gates of the East,
      The New Year looked out from its chambers
      With a smile and a blessing of peace.
~Eliza A. Wetherby Otis (1833–1904)

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