A Sonnet

Take all of me,—I am thine own, heart, soul, Brain, body,—all; all that I am or dream Is thine forever; yea, though space should teem With thy conditions, I ’d fulfil the whole— Were to fulfil them to be loved of thee. Oh, love me!—were to love me but a way To kill me—love me; so to die would be To live forever. Let me hear thee say Once only, “Dear, I love thee,”’—then all life Would be one sweet remembrance, thou its king: Nay, thou art that already, and the strife Of twenty worlds could not uncrown the Bring, O Time! my monarch to possess his throne Which is my heart and for himself alone.