I am about to retire,
Melancholy
is my solitary theme.
My last journal —
and some years to come —
is hollered in this vein,
One last plea,
And then —
for there is no more time!
I must compose
in this strange land,
One last essay,
and pen a letter to my wife.
No longer the tongue of my woe,
Can be,
But the hand of a poet,
