[27]

I hear strange voices, flitting, calling,

Wavering by on the dusky blast,—

'Come, let us go, for the night is falling;

Come, let us go, for the day is past!'

Troops of joys are they, now departed?

Winged hopes that no longer stay?

Guardian spirits grown weary-hearted?

Powers that have linger'd their latest day?

What do they say?

What do they sing? I hear them calling,

Whispering, gathering, flying fast,—

'Come, come, for the night is falling;

Come, come, for the day is past!'

Sing they to me?—'Thy taper's wasted;

Mortal, thy sands of life run low;

Thine hours like a flock of birds have hasted:

Time is ending;—we go, we go.'

Sing they so?

Mystical voices, floating, calling;

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