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!
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