The New Year
A flower unblown; a book unread;
A tree with fruit unharvested;
A path untrod; a house whose rooms
Lack yet the heart’s divine perfumes;
A landscape whose wide border lies
In silent shade beneath the skies;
A wondrous fountain yet unsealed;
A casket with its gifts concealed —
This is the Year that for you waits
Beyond tomorrow’s mystic gates.
— Horatio Nelson Powers