I should hold this world a memory
For I'll soon be old and gone
And sail unto a land of dreams
Beneath the setting sun

The world shall be an endless song
Played on the strings of broken lyres
The wind to be her death lament
Her hours confined in fires

The lilies then were fervourless
White roses snowed upon their tomb
The weeping willow mourned her epitaph
And cursed the dull buds of her womb

There was little cause to win the war
There was little cause to dread the fear
Or phantoms of unresting thought
That peopled the world we held so dear

Break there the curse of Lethe's memory
Or the ecstasy that was its price
While we embarked there on the merry ship
That sails away to paradise