The day is at its golden height,
    No shadow falls on sea or land;
And yet to thee I say Good night,
    As we stand here hand clasped in hand,
       Good night--Good night.

The laughing waves are summer blue,
    The bees hum in the sun's warm light;
But frosts of winter chill me through,
    I shiver as I say Good night.
       Good night--Good night.

How often at the close of day
    With smiling lips we've said those words:
And listened as we turned away
    To hear them echoed by the birds,
       Good night--Good night.

We did not dream then of this hour,
    This sad, sad hour for you and me;
We did not dream there was a power
    Could force us for eternity
       To say Good night.

Good night--nay, turn your eyes away;
    I cannot bear their tender light.
Now evermore to golden day,
    To golden hope, a last Good night,
       Good night--Good night.

Yesterdays. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1916.

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