Fora da casa de bonecas

The last, late guest
To the gate we followed;
Goodbye - and the rest
The night - wind swallowed.

House, garden, street,
Lay tenfold gloomy,
Where accents sweet
Had made music to me.

It was but a feast
With the dark coming on;
She was but a guest -
And now, she is gone.

(Henrik Ibsen)