I will not, though I would, resolve,
As the New Year’s Eve comes on,
To do, not do, review, revolve
On the past year, how it has gone,
Taking not all, but still enough
(Seeing I had not much to lose)
Of what, for all my falling off, 
Might have been mine, as then, to use:
    But if I cast off heaviness,
    This is my burden, none the less.

I would no more, as I have done,
Consider what the year will bring
But take the seasons one by one;
For, all in all, the heaviest thing
—Excepting only no more hope—
Is hope returning year on year:
Let me not give it now the scope
Of what I might do, for I fear
    That if it cast off heaviness,
    This is my burden, none the less.

I care no more for this I might,
Whether it comes as would or should:
The first is nothing if not light,
Yet it has weighed me down for good;
And how much heavier, come to naught,
As I have found, the other is:
Lightness that ponders what it ought
Weighs like its own antithesis:
    But when I cast off heaviness,
    This is my burden, none the less.