Punctilio

O

ET me be in loving nice,

Dainty, fine, and o’er precise,

That I may charm my charmàd

As tho’ I felt a secret

To lose what never can be lost,—Her faith who still delights me most!

So shall I be more than true,

Ever in my ageing new.

So dull habit shall not

Wrongly call’d Fidelity.