Oh, and do you love me…

Oh, and do you love me, dear?
Sweet rain falls down in buckets from the sky;
Am I to get a bucket of your love?
Or give me glass of it, half full, that I won’t die,
Or teaspoonful, to medicine my pain.
And if thy hand should tremble, drops to spill,
Be just one left, I live, bleak death to kill.
This fever in my brain shall lose degrees,
This aching in my bones pass from my knees,
My strength, surging, up-stand me on the ground,
Alive and hale, and couraged for that act
In which the hero clasps, with leaping bound,
His loved one, weeping, where _he_ was wracked,
Tortured in a cell of darksome night
Where slow-deciding Love held back her light.

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