Musings

Be calmer, O my Grief, be quieter:

The dusk you craved enfolds us; everywhere

The twilight veil of blue-grey gossamer

Falls, bringing peace to some, to others care.

While thralls of Pleasure, that most merciless

Of tyrants, hasten to his board ( although

His wine is gall, and his fruit, bitterness ),

Come with me, O my Grief, and let us go

Far from them. See the bygone years that throng

Heaven's balconies; see smiling Sorrow, strong

In fortitude, rise from the waters; see

The dying sun, low sinking, disappear

Beyond the verge. The rustling mystery

Of night approaches — hear, beloved, hear.