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