Meditative calm

Behave yourself, oh my Pain, and be more tranquil.

You asked for Evening - it is falling, it is here.

An atmosphere of darkness envelops the city

bringing peace to some and worry to others.

Now while the base multitude of mortals,

whipped on by Pleasure, that merciless tormentor,

goes off to reap remorse in servile entertainments,

give me your hand, my Pain, come this way

far from them. Look, the dead Years are leaning

at the sky's balconies, in outmoded dresses;

from the river's depths Regret is rising with a smile;

the moribund Sun is falling asleep under an arch.

And like a long shroud trailing in from the East,

listen, my dear, listen to the gentle Night approaching.