SONNETS
IV
I SHALL forget you presently, my dear.
So make the most of this, your little day.
Your little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, or die, or move away.
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived.
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,—
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.
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