There comes a time, a dreary time,
To him whose heart hath flown
O’er all the fields of youth’s sweet prime
And made each flower its own.
’Tis when his soul must first renounce
Those dreams so bright, so fond;
Oh! then’s the time to die at once,
For Life has nought beyond.
When sets the sun on Afric’s shore,
That instant all is night;
And so should life at once be o’er,
When Love withdraws his light —
Nor, like our northern day, gloom on
Through twilight’s dim delay,
The cold remains of lustre gone,
Of fire long passed away.