Amoris Finis

AND now I go with the departing sun:
  My day is dead and all my work is done.
No more for me the pleasant moon shall rise
  To show the splendour in my dear one's eyes;
No more the stars shall see us meet; we part
  Without a hope, or hope of hope, at heart;
For Love lies dead, and at his altar, lo,
  Stands in his room, self-crowned and crested,–Woe!