MY future  copy fair my past

    On any leaf but heavens. Be fully done,

    Supernal ill ! I  fain be one

    isfying t and breaking fast

    Upon t, at last

    Saiter meat. My wine h run

    Indeed out of my cup, and there is none

    to gat

    Scattered and trampled ! Yet I find some good

    In eartreams t bubble up

    Clear from tent until

    I sit ter food.

    Dear C ! wage fills my cup,

    t wine spill.