Doubt Me, My Dim Companion! Why, God Would Be Content With But A Fraction Of The Love Poured Thee Without A Stint. 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 Ceded All Of Dust I Knew, -- What Opulence The More Had I, A Humble Maiden, Whose Farthest Of Degree Was That She Might, Some Distant Heaven, Dwell Timidly With Thee!