Doubt me, my dim companion!
Why, God would be content
With but a fraction of the love
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 humble maiden
Whose farthest of degree
Was that she might
Some distant heaven
Dwell timidly with thee!