Put by the sun, my joyful soul, 
We are for darkness that is whole; 

Put by the wine, now for long years 
We must be thirsty with salt tears ; 

Put by the rose, bind thou instead 
The fiercest thorns about thy head ; 

Put by the courteous tire, we need 
But the poor pilgrim's blackest weed; 

Put by albeit with tears thy lute, 
Sing but to God or else be mute. 

Take leave of friends save such as dare 
Thy love with Loneliness to share. 

It is full tide. Put by regret. 
Turn, turn away. Forget. Forget. 

Put by the sun, my lightless soul, 
We are for darkness that is whole.