Inclusions

OH, wilt thou have my hand, Dear, to lie along in

      thine?

As a little stone in a running stream, it seems to

      lie and pine!

Now drop the poor pale hand, Dear,.. unfit to

      plight with thine.

Oh, wilt thou have my cheek, Dear, drawn closer to

      thine own?

My cheek is white, my cheek is worn, by many a

      tear run down.

Now leave a little space, Dear,.. lest it should wet

      thine own.

Oh, must thou have my soul, Dear, commingled

      with thy soul?—

Red grows the cheek, and warm the hand,.. the

      part is in the whole!..

Nor hands nor cheeks keep separate, when soul is

      joined to soul.