My task is done, my song hath ceased, my theme
  Has died into an echo; it is fit
  The spell should break of this protracted dream.
  The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit
  My midnight lamp -- and what is writ, is writ;
  Would it were worthier! but I am not now
  That which I have been -- and my visions flit
  Less palpably before me -- and the glow
Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low.

  Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been --
  A sound which makes us linger; -- yet -- farewell!
  Ye! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene
  Which is his last, if in your memories dwell
  A thought which once was his, if on ye swell
  A single recollection, not in vain
  He wore is sandal shoon and scallop shell;
  Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain,
If such there were -- with you the moral of his strain.

George Gordon, Lord Byron