THE CHIME of a bell of gold 
 That flutters across the air, 
The sound of a singing of old, 
The end of a tale that is told, 
 Of a melody strange and fair, 
 of a joy that has grown despair: 
 
For the things that have been for me 
 I shall never have them again; 
The skies and the purple sea, 
And day like a melody,
 And night like a silver rain 
 Of stars on forest and plain. 
 
They are shut, the gates of the day; 
 The night has fallen on me: 
My life is a lightless way;
I sing yet, while as I may! 
 Some day I shall cease, maybe: 
 I shall live on yet, you will see.