Praying: “Dear God, make time go very slow!”
For you I’ve plunged me from calm’s peerless height,
And dwarfed my soul for Envy’s shabby door;
Yet know that I would cry: “Dear God, give more!”
If for the asking I could have to-night
Gold Helens and all dear dead ones’ beauty
Since for your love so little it would be.
XLII
He said when ready for the ball I stood—
Mi esposo—“These gems will you not wear?”