Sonnet #3

Hold thou, Eidolon! half-flesh, half-dreamt man,
That I may hold thee, and to altar go;
With holy rite join us this sage chaplain
And I, thy rib, my maiden veil o'rthrow.
O'rpass me not, that thou may'st break thy spell
Bestown without thought and fed without care.
Twain bosom Momi we were, then I fell
'Neath fancy; thy verity is th' elixir.