The fire is out, and spent the warmth thereof This is the end of every song man sings The golden wine is drunk, the dregs remain Bitter as warmwood, and as salt as pain And hope health have gone the way of love Into the drear oblivion of lost things Ghosts go along with us until the end This was a mistress this, perhaps, a friend... With pale, indifferent eyes we sit and wait For the dropt curtain and the closing gate This is the end of every song man sings James Elroy Flecker
sings, warmwood, elroy, flecker, dropt