I dwell no more in Arcady:—

I hied me off to Arcady— The month it was the month of May, And all along the pleasant way The morning birds were mad with glee, And all the flowers sprang up to see, As I went on to Arcady.

At end of Love, at end of Life, At end of Hope, at end of Strife, At end of all we cling to so— The sun is setting—must we go?At dawn of Love, at dawn of Life, At dawn of Peace that follows Strife, At dawn of all we long for so—

There is rust upon locks and hinges, And mold and blight on the walls, And silence faints in the chambers, And darkness waits in the halls.

Youth is thy gift—the youth that baffles Time.

Bend low, O dusky Night, And give my spirit rest; Hold me to your deep breast, And put old cares to flight; Give back the lost delight That once my soul possest,

This Life is a fleeting breath, And whither and how shall I go, When I wander away with Death By a path that I do not know?