Yea! for our roses fade, the world is wild, But there, beside the altar, there, is rest. - Ernest Dowson

I was not sorrowful, but only tired
Of everything that ever I desired.

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine.