CLXXXV.

My task is done--my song hath ceased--my theme Has died into an echo; it is fit[qk] The spell should break of this protracted dream. The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit My midnight lamp--and what is writ, is writ,-- Would it were worthier! but I am not now That which I have been--and my visions flit Less palpably before me--and the glow Which in my Spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low.