This Plea You Mustn’t Spurn

Ah my Dear! Now let me rest

My cheek on Your soft breast,

Your breath warm on my face,

Holding me in tight embrace.

My little hands You gently kiss,

Can one think of greater bliss?

Encircled by You, so very near,

How can I feel dread and fear?

Pat me now gently off to sleep,

For all time in Your arms keep,

Or, better still, make me return

(This plea You mustn’t spurn)

To the womb in which me You bore,

So I can remain there forever more,

And no longer as ‘my self’ appear,

Having fused into You, my Dear.