O LET me be in loving nice,
Dainty, fine, and o’er precise,
That I may charm my charmà d dear
As tho’ I felt a secret fear
To lose what never can be lost,—
Her faith who still delights me most!
So shall I be more than true,
Ever in my ageing new.
So dull habit shall not be
Wrongly call’d Fidelity.
Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/punctilio/
