Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (1861–1907)

O LET me be in loving nice,

Dainty, fine, and o’er precise,

That I may charm my charmèd dear

As tho’ I felt a secret fear

To lose what never can be lost,—

Her faith who still delights me most!

So shall I be more than true,

Ever in my ageing new.

So dull habit shall not be

Wrongly call’d Fidelity.