The day is done, and the darkness
Falls on our little flat,
As a feather is wafted downward
From a lady's mushroom hat.
I've a feeling of fullness and sorrow
That is not like being ill,
And resembles colic only
As a pillow resembles a pill.
But the night shall be filled with nightmares,
And the food that was left to-day
Shall be given to poor street Arabs,
Or silently thrown away!