57494: Sonnet (Daily I muse on her...)

Daily I muse on her; I muse and fret;
And take her little face between each hand;
But spare her---even imagined---kisses yet.
It is because, when first that face I scanned,
It wakened doubts I may no more forget,
And curious dreads I cannot understand.
They reach beyond the fears fond lovers pet,
That faith may change ere death; for they demand:

'What of her after Death? Shall we persist?
Will Death be merciful and keep her whole?'
In wonderment at this, I have not kissed;
And even now methought a whisper stole:
'Hast thou so learned Love's Law, and yet not wist
Her Beauty lives not? How, then, can her Soul?'