858
 
This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life
I mention it to you,
When Sunrise through a fissure drop
The Day must follow too.
 
If we demur, its gaping sides
Disclose as ’twere a Tomb
Ourself am lying straight wherein
The Favorite of Doom.
 
When it has just contained a Life
Then, Darling, it will close
And yet so bolder every Day
So turbulent it grows
 
I’m tempted half to stitch it up
With a remaining Breath
I should not miss in yielding, though
To Him, it would be Death—
 
And so I bear it big about
My Burial—before
A Life quite ready to depart
Can harass me no more—

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