If you were coming in the Fall,
I'd brush the Summer
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls---And put them each in separate Drawers,
For fear the numbers fuse---If only Centuries, delayed,
I'd count them on my Hand,
Subtracting, til my fingers
Into Van Dieman's Land,
If certain, when this life was out---That yours and mine, should beI'd toss it yonder, like a Rind,
And take Eternity---But, now, uncertain of the
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee---That will not state--- its sting.
