 | A lover's diary |  |
141
I.
TO MONA.
Strange fancies I sometimes pursue,—
I have been thinking now, to-day,
If I perforce must write to you
A letter, what things could I say?
I have been thinking now, to-day,
If I perforce must write to you
A letter, what things could I say?
142
My wits, in truth, cannot suppose
A first line,—'t would not do, I think,
If I were writing of a rose,
To say geranium or pink.
A first line,—'t would not do, I think,
If I were writing of a rose,
To say geranium or pink.
And of the serching were no end,
For synonymes of love, or sweet,
Therefore, I must begin with friend,
And leave my meaning incomplete.
For synonymes of love, or sweet,
Therefore, I must begin with friend,
And leave my meaning incomplete.
And so I sit and muse my hour
Without a single word to say,
My thoughts like bees to some sweet flower
Flying back to that delicious day,
Without a single word to say,
My thoughts like bees to some sweet flower
Flying back to that delicious day,
When, shadowed by the hill so high,—
That all in dress of summer state
Was standing at the sunset sky
Like some old shepherd at his gate,—
That all in dress of summer state
Was standing at the sunset sky
Like some old shepherd at his gate,—
143
I bade you listen to the call
Of wind to wind, and to the birds,
And told you these were telling all
That I could never tell in words.
Of wind to wind, and to the birds,
And told you these were telling all
That I could never tell in words.
But if I should a letter send
Tinged with the light of that sweet sky,
What answer would you make, my friend?
Heart-sick, I wait for your reply.
Tinged with the light of that sweet sky,
What answer would you make, my friend?
Heart-sick, I wait for your reply.
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