Contemplation Thou, O my Grief! Be wise and tranquil still the eve is thine which even now drops down to carry peace or care to human will and in a misty veil enfolds the town.
While the vile mortals of the multitude by pleasure, cruel tormentor, goaded on gather remorseful blossoms in light mood- grief, place thy hand in mine, let us be gone.
Far from them. Lo, see how the vanished years in robes outworn lean over heaven's rim and from the water, smiling through her tears Remorse arises, and the sun grows dim and in the east, her long shroud trailing light list, O my grief, the gentle steps of Night!!
