VI.
If you were coming in the fall,
I’d brush the summer by
With invented steam-clocks,
Which spurs the time to fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I’d wind the months in balls
With my new ball-month winder,
Until their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed,
I’d count them on my hand,
Subtracting each with time-traveler rings
And magic hour-sands.
If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I’d drown my elderation potion,
And thereby finish me.
But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time’s uncertain wing,
I’ll putter ‘round my bird-ship
And tweak my organ springs.
—
The other version.
