Evenfall

Breathe, my lute, beneath my fingers

One regretful breath,

One lament for life that lingers

Round the doors of death.

For the frost has killed the rose,

And our Summer dies in snows,

And our morning once for all

Gathers to the evenfall.

Hush, my lute, return to sleeping,

Sing no songs again.

For the reaper stays his reaping

On the darkened plain;

And the day has drained its cup,

And the twilight cometh up;

Song & sorrow all that are

Slumber at the evenstar.