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Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!

Doubt Me! My Dim Companion!
Why, God, would be content
With but a fraction of the Life
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 freckled Maiden,
Whose farthest of Degree,
Was that she might
Some distant Heaven,
Dwell timidly, with thee!

Sift her, from Brow to Barefoot!
Strain till your last Surmise
Drop, like a Tapestry, away,
Before the Fire’s Eyes
Winnow her finest fondness
But hallow just the snow
Intact, in Everlasting flake
Oh, Caviler, for you!


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Poem Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! - Emily Dickinson