The Third Lamp

The third lamp of the lonely night
Wastes silently away;
It casts a feeble flickering light.
Oh! why doth she delay?

But would that also, in my breast,
Were quenched the fatal fire
That tortures me with long unrest,
And wakeful wild desire.

And yet how many times she swore
At dusk to meet me here!
For men she hath no pity more,
And of the gods no fear.