The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine. A Being breathing thoughtful breath. A Traveller betwixt life and death. The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength and skill.
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair.
She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamd upon my sight A lovely apparition sent To be a moments ornament.
Pleasure is spread through the earth in stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.