SURRENDER.

Doubt me, my dim companion!
Why, God would be content
With but a fraction of the love
Poured thee without a stint¹.
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 ceded² all of dust I knew, --
What opulence³ the more
Had I, a humble⁴ maiden,
Whose farthest of degree
Was that she might,
Some distant heaven,
Dwell timidly with thee!