To You

,If you were coming in the fall
I'd brush the summer by
,With half a smile and half a spurn
.As housewives do a fly

,If I could see you in a year
I'd wind the months in balls
,And put them each in separate drawers
.Until their time befalls

But now , all ignorant of the length
,Of time's uncertain wing
,It goads me , like the goblin bee
.That will not state its sting