From farthest end of widest, deepest sea
O’er top old mountain, under wicked sky
My love is thou, and your dear lover thee
For reason knows not cause nor questions why
More than the wisest know, and less than not
The softest touch, the most ready of friends
The only I shall care for of the lot
I’ll tend to you, every mark I shall mend
Yet, love does tell me that you promise loss
Assurèd that you won’t be here to stay
Your love, though true, is elementary gloss
Not lifelong friend to travel life’s long way
Oh, wretched gods, oh cruel mother thee!
Why must my Blankie separate from me?