Minstrel

MINSTREL'S PRAYER
The yellow candlelight sinks low,
And cheerful hours grow cold and late;
Departing guests have far to go,
The fire burns out in the grate.

The minstrel's final song is sung
And now his chords no longer call;
For now his melodies have rung
Around each strong and stony wall.

The full moon rides past ragged cloud,
And lights the misty haze on high;
The midnight wind is wild and loud,
And makes the forest groan and sigh.

He lies his lute back in its case,
And silent is the darkening hall;
As sleep drifts slowly through each place,
And off to dream go one and all.

Although the song dies into dark,
The dawn will rise when night has gone;
Although the singer must depart,
Yet song itself shall carry on.