| Poem: |
The sun goes down, on other lands to shine.
I long to keep him, but he will not stay.
Only in fancy can I wing my way
to overtake him, to recatch each ray,
warmer and warmer, till at last is mine,
in fancy, that loved gaze, that light divine.
Now close the dewy flowers, that morn's first peep
to sunshine opened: and I too must close
my leaves up, and in silence and repose
baptize my spirit. See, the last gleam goes:
now is it time neither to joy nor weep;
only to lay the head down, and to sleep.
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