The fire is out, and spent the warmth thereof
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This is the end of every song man sings
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The golden wine is drunk, the dregs remain :
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Bitter as warmwood, and as salt as pain
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And hope health have gone the way of love
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Into the drear oblivion of lost things
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Ghosts go along with us until the end:
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This was a mistress; this, perhaps, a friend...
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With pale, indifferent eyes we sit and wait
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For the dropt curtain and the closing gate
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This is the end of every song man sings
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James Elroy Flecker
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I. Time Is Shadow
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| Cemetery Of Scream |
