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, til my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman's 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, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee---
That will not state--- its sting