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—