Kat, It made me think of Eccliastes
" to every thing there is a season
and a time for every purpose under heaven,
a time to be born, a time to die...,"
. . or Omar Khyyam
" Ah moon of my delight that knows no wane
the moon of keaven is rising once again
How oft hereafte rising shall she look
through this same Garden after me in Vain

and when thyself with shining foot shall pass
among the guests star scattered on the grass
and in thy Joyous errand reach the spot
where I made one, Turn down an empty glass"
where earlier he had been talking about "being turned to clay" and she is rembering him by spilling some wine.