Time Is Shadow

The fire is out, and spent the warmth thereof 
This is the end of every song man sings 
The golden wine is drunk, the dregs remain : 
Bitter as warmwood, and as salt as pain 
And hope health have gone the way of love 
Into the drear oblivion of lost things 
Ghosts go along with us until the end: 
This was a mistress; this, perhaps, a friend... 
With pale, indifferent eyes we sit and wait 
For the dropt curtain and the closing gate 
This is the end of every song man sings 
James Elroy Flecker