Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!
Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life Poured thee, without a stint The whole of me forever What more the Woman can, Say quick, that I may dower thee With last Delight I own! It cannot be my Spirit For that was thine, before I ceded all of Dust I knew What Opulence the more Had I a freckled Maiden, Whose farthest of Degree, Was that she might Some distant Heaven, Dwell timidly, with thee! Sift her, from Brow to Barefoot! Strain till your last Surmise Drop, like a Tapestry, away, Before the Fire’s Eyes Winnow her finest fondness But hallow just the snow Intact, in Everlasting flake Oh, Caviler, for you!