By anonymous

far
a friend await
or doom.
What fortitude the soul contains,
so endure
coming
The opening of a door!

DOUBT me, companion
content
With love
The whole of me,
the woman
that I may
delight I own!
It cannot be my spirit,
dust I knew,—
she might
Some distant heaven,

If you were coming in the fall
I’d brush the summer by
smile
fly.