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, dalayed
I'd count them on my Hand
Subtracting, till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman's Land

If certain, when the life was out --
That yours and mine, should be
I'd toss it yonder, like a Rind
And take Eternity --

But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee --
That will not state -- its sting