As the year comes to an end — a low, dishonest year, grinding down to its low, dishonest end — we need our valediction: our parting words, our taking leave. Maybe it need be nothing more than a metaphorical shaking off from our feet the dust of 2023, a muttered good riddance. Yet maybe it should be more considered, more thoughtful. Maybe we should revisit “Recessional,” the 1897 poem by Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936).

Kipling has appeared in the Sun’s Poem of the Day feature several times over the past two years, with “The Way through the Woods,” “When Earth’s Last Picture Is Painted,” “Tommy,” and “The Gods of the Copybook Headings.” Written for Queen Victoria’s 1897 Diamond Jubilee — actually, written at the close of the Jubilee: a reflection on the ceremonies and military parades that had filled London — “Recessional” was unexpectedly somber and prophetic.