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!