Never let me lose the marvel

        of your statue-like eyes, or t

        tary rose of your breath

        play ight.

        I am afraid of being, on this shore,

        a brank, and    regret

        is having no flower, pulp, or clay

        for the worm of my despair.

        If you are my reasure,

        if you are my cross, my dampened pain,

        if I am a dog, and you alone my master,

        never let me lose w I have gained,

        and adorn the branches of your river

        ranged Autumn.
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