The deep decline of love foretells our fate; In future dispositions of our hearts We lose them ever where they feel the dartsOf wrathful wreckers sending out their hate. So parsed may be the senses felt of lateThat we should know the endings or the startsOf all that feels so painful and thus smarts;As souls are severed we shall lose our mate. In congress may we join again my loveWith little thought of what may have been l...