No star is o'er the lake,
Its pale watch keeping, ,
The moon is half awake,
Through gray mist creeping, ,
The last red leaves fall round
The porch of roses, ,
The clock hath ceased to sound, - ,
The long day closes. .
Sit by the silent hearth
In calm endeavour, , ,
To count the sounds of mirth, ,
Now dumb for ever. .
Heed not how hope believes
And fate disposes: :
Shadow is round the eaves, ,
The long day closes. .
The lighted windows dim
Are fading slowly. .
The fire that was so trim
Now quivers lowly. , , .
Go to the dreamless bed - ,
Where grief reposes; ;
Thy book of toil is read, ,
The long day closes. .
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