I do not doubt you. I know you love me. It is a fact of your indoor face, A true fancy of your muscularity. Your step is confident. Your look is thorough. Your stay-beside-me is a pillow To roll over on And sleep as on my own upon. But make me a statement In due form on endless foolscap Witnessed before a notary And sent by post, registered, To be signed for on receipt And opened under oath to believe; An antique paper missing from my strong-box, A bond to clutch when hail tortures the chimney And lightning circles redder round the city, And your brisk step and thorough look Are gallant but uncircumstantial, And not mentionable in a doom-book.
— Laura (Riding) Jackson