Poetry

By and by our days glide away
And I can no longer hear or say
Can no longer see or envisage
Love dwindles with each passage
This is known to no other, oh sweet Bernice
Upon my heart, sorely, is engraved this finis
That steals my last hope and faith
My days of winning needing to wait
And this voyage seeming on end
I write my last letter to you, friend
With much regret I go my way, far from yours,
On the wings of my too aged Phoenix
Know these creatures; on fire and sticks
They burn and resurge; like my love on yours