A Pit—but Heaven over it

To stir would be to slip —

To look would be to drop —

To dream — to sap the Prop

That holds my chances up.

Ah! Pit! With Heaven over it!

The depth is all my thought —

I dare not ask my feet —

'Twould start us where we sit

So straight you'd scarce suspect

It was a Pit — with fathoms under it —

Its Circuit just the same.

Seed — summer — tomb —

Whose Doom to whom?