The last embers
Of the sad light!
The flag adown the pole
Slow winds and falls
Hour after hour strike
And flee:
How chill
The passing of night
The yawning of
The fading star-light:
Night is as of the little
That remains that purifies
The Soul, the
Aching Soul.
How dim, how dim, dance
The last embers
Of the sad light!
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