The nights are drawing in, as is my life.
What could be more natural? Why then do I plead
For time, more time, when all time brings is strife;
For books I own but now shall never read;
For foreign lands whose shores I shall not tread;
For strangers who were destined to be friends;
For shaggy coats, soft purrs, ducks gobbling bread,
For shining water where the river bends?
My dearest friends, I’ve lived more lives than one
And lived them all at joyous, jostling speed;
My foes, if such there be: the race is run,
Come, here’s my hand — forgive the word or deed.
  My loves, (and there were many, I confess),
  I bid you love as well again. God bless!