Venite Descendamus
Let be at last; give over words and sighing,
   Vainly were all things said:
Better at last to find a place for lying,
   Only dead.
Silence were best, with songs and sighing over;
   Now be the music mute;
Now let the dead, red leaves of autumn cover
   A vain lute.
Silence is best: for ever and for ever,
   We will go down and sleep,
Somewhere beyond her ken, where she need never
   Come to weep.
Let be at last: colder she grows and colder;
   Sleep and the night were best;
Lying at last where we can not behold her,
   We may rest.

Webpage © 2002 ELC
Lane Core Jr. (
Created November 13, 2002; not revised.