Of thin white wavering ash. The warmth it gave
Is now diminished, and the keen frost-air
Pierces the lonely room. Farewell old scene
Of oft-remembered joys—to thee, good night!
And now withdrawn to solitude, I may
Let thought make free excursions, and review
The recent hours of pleasure. There are times
When we think inwardly, that is more deep
Within our being, so that images
Distinct and palpable, are scarcely seen