Happy New Year! To those who will have none,
A wish that knows too well it cannot be.
Perhaps one ought not wish so futilely;
Perhaps one ought, that such not be alone.
Yearning is the price one pays for hope,
Nor can one hope unless one would endure.
Each futile wish makes paradise more sure,
Widening the world's supernal [lofty; of more than earthly or human excellence, powers]scope.
Yet there are those who find such wishes cheap,
Easy substitutes for sacrifice.
A wish for good is more than merely nice,
Restoring winds that stir the unguent [an ointment or salve, usually liquid or semiliquid, for application to wounds, sores,] deep.
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