Ours is much company, and yet none is lonely;
Some with a smile may pay and some with a sigh;
So all be healed, restored, contented—it is no matter—
So all be happy at heart to bid good-bye.
But know, our clocks are the world's; Night's wings are leaden,
Pain languidly sports with the hours; have courage, sir!
We wake but to bring thee slumber, our drowsy syrups
Sleep beyond dreams on the weary will confer.
Ghosts may be ours; but gaze thou not too closely
If haply in chill of the dark thou rouse to see