|If you were coming in the Fall,|
I'd brush the summer by
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 till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemens Land.
If certain, when this life was out –
That yours and mine, should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a Rind,
And take Eternity –
But now, uncedrtain of the length
Of this, that is between,
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee –
That will not state – its sting.
I have to be away from here for a while.