MY letters! all dead paper, mute and white! And yet they seem alive and quivering Against my tremulous hands which loose the string And let them drop down on my knee tonight. This said, -- he wished to have me in his sight Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring To come and touch my hand ... a simple thing, Yet I wept for it! -- this, ... the paper's light ... Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed As if God's future thundered on my past. This said, I am thine -- and so its ink has paled With lying at my heart that beat too fast. And this ... O Love, thy words have ill availed If, what this said, I dared repeat at last! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CONCLUSION OF A LETTER TO THE REV. MR. C --. by MARY BARBER HERITAGE by THERESA VIRGINIA BEARD THE UNKNOWN WOMAN by ALEXANDER (ALEKSANDR) ALEXANDROVICH BLOK SEARCHLIGHTS by MILDRED SUTTON BRENEMAN SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 9 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TWO SKETCHES: 1. H.B. by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A DIALOGUE, OCCASIONED BY MARCH OF HIGHLANDERS INTO LANCASHIRE, 1745 by JOHN BYROM |