Fall out of love with thee.

 For, Life, thou art become a ghost,

 A memory of days gone by,

 A poor forsaken thing between

 A heartache and a sigh.

 And now, with shadows from the hills

 Thronging the twilight, wraith on wraith,

 Unlock the door and let me go

 To thy dark rival Death!

II

 O Heart, dear Heart, in this fair house

 Why hast thou wearied and grown tired,

45

 Between a morning and a night,

 Of all thy soul desired?

 Fond one, who cannot understand

 Even these shadows on the floor,

 Yet must be dreaming of dark loves

 And joys beyond my door!

 But I am beautiful past all

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