The moon has set In a bank of jet That fringes the Western sky, The pleiads seven Have sunk from heaven And the midnight hurries by; My hopes are flown And, alas! alone On my weary couch I lie.
Someone, I tell you, in another time will remember us
Death is an evil; the gods have so judged; had it been good, they would die.
Although only breath, words which I command are immortal.
What cannot be said will be wept.
Stand and face me, my love,and scatter the grace in your eyes.