The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.—Gray: Elegy.
And pilgrim, newly on his road, with love
Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far,
That seems to mourn for the expiring day.—Dante, Cary’s Trans.
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires.—Gray: Elegy.
Yet in our ashen cold is fire yrecken.—Chaucer.
Ἐάσατ’ ἤδη γῇ καλυφθῆναι νεκρόυς,