Contemplation

Thou, O my Grief!Be wise and tranquil stillthe eve is thine which even now drops downto carry peace or care to human willand in a misty veil enfolds the town.While the vile mortals of the multitudeby pleasure, cruel tormentor, goaded ongather remorseful blossoms in light mood-grief, place thy hand in mine, let us be gone.Far from them. Lo, see how the vanished yearsin robes outworn lean over heaven's rimand from the water, smiling through her tearsRemorse arises, and the sun grows dimand in the east, her long shroud trailing lightlist, O my grief, the gentle steps of Night!!