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