As I lay awake by my good wife’s side,

And heard the clock tick through a night in June,

I thought of a song with a haunting tune;

But the songs that betide,

And the tunes that we hear in the ear when the June moon rides in the sky,

Fade and die away with the coming of the day.

And my haloed angels with golden wings,

And the small sweet bells that rang in tune,

And the strings that quivered above the quills,

And all my mellow imaginings

Faded and died away at the coming of the day

With the gradual growth and spread of grey

Above the hills.