We need thee not. My pipe and I
Swifter than Time must go.
Why, what is this? The pipe gone out?
Well, well, the fire's out, too!
The dreams are gone—we're poor once more;
Life's pain begins anew.
'Tis time for sleep, my faithful pipe,
But may thy dreamings be,
Through slumbering hours hued as bright
As those thou gav'st to me!