It is the dawning of a funeral day,
  Put out the lights, and cast away the flowers,
And bid the merry Minstrel cease his lay,
  Or sing the deathsong of these festal hours.

The jocund Hours I loved to entertain
  Mantle themselves to leave the festival,
And gaily part with songs, but I remain
  Lone in the centre of my banquet-hall.

Oh! ere ye part, come, let me look once more,
  My well-beloved Guests, while yet I stand
Your Host beneath the lintel of the door,
  Into your eyes, and take me by the hand;

And as ye past me into darkness move,
  I shall remember the last look ye cast,
And ye shall take some token of my love
  Precious and pure, for it must be the last.

Ah! sure in all our revels I ne'er heard,
  Until this bitter moment of Farewell,
Your tongues so sweet as on that mournful word,
  Nor on mine eyes such beauty ever fell,

As now from those reverted eyes ye shower
  Soften'd with tears that answer to my own,
Thro' the chill shadows of this twilight hour,
  Leaving me with mute Memory here alone.