Good-Night and Good-Morrow

The fires are all burned out; the lamps are low;
The guests are gone; the cups are drained and dry.
Here there was somewhat once of revelry,
But now no more at all the fires shall glow,
Nor song be heard, nor laughter, nor wine flow.
Chill is the air; gray gleams the wintry sky:
Through lifeless boughs drear winds begin to sigh.
'T is time, my heart, for us to rise and go

Up the steep stair, till the dark room we gain
Where sleep awaits us, brooding by that bed
On which who lies forgets all joy and pain,
Nor weeps in dreams for some sweet thing long fled.
'T is cold and lonely now; set wide the door;
Good-morrow, my heart, and rest thee evermore!