Mine eyes, my brain, my heart, are sad,—sad is the very core of me;
All wearies, changes, passes, ends; alas! the Birthday’s injury!

Friends of my youth, a last adieu! haply some day we meet again;
Yet ne’er the self-same men shall meet; the years shall make us other men:

The light of morn has grown to noon, has paled with eve, and now farewell!
Go, vanish from my Life as dies the tinkling of the Camel’s bell.