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II.

The book is completed, And closed, like the day; And the hand that has written it Lays it away.

Dim grow its fancies; Forgotten they lie; Like coals in the ashes, They darken and die.

Song sinks into silence, The story is told, The windows are darkened, The hearth-stone is cold.

Darker and darker The black shadows fall; Sleep and oblivion Reign over all.