The blog

To the New Year.

BY A BICYCLER.

All hail, O first of Jan.! thou greatest day
(For swearing off) of all the merry year;
When whiskey topers drop to lager bier,
And beardless youths demand a “raise” in pay.
When thou appearest in thy slushed array,
Thou bringest us a thousand trophies dear,
The barber boy’s insinuating leer,
The postman’s blithe, explanatory lay;
For these, and more, we thank thee ; but, O Jan.
The wheelman’s benison will never flow
In praise of one who steals his summer tan.
And blocks the boulevard with ice and snow.
If thou wouldst note the cycler’s happy eye.
Retain thine icy gifts till — well — July.

From: Wheel songs: poems of bicycling by Dr Foster S. Conant, 1884