 | Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge |  |
74
THE LETTER.
My letter is finished; but how shall it end?
Shall I sign it just “Bertha McCaul”?
It 's so awkward to write to a gentleman friend,
And to Charlie it 's hardest of all.
Shall I sign it just “Bertha McCaul”?
It 's so awkward to write to a gentleman friend,
And to Charlie it 's hardest of all.
Shall I say, “Yours respectfully”? Horrible! No,
That would be quite insulting, I'm sure;
Or “Cordially yours”? or “Your friend So-and-so”?
These phrases I cannot endure!
That would be quite insulting, I'm sure;
Or “Cordially yours”? or “Your friend So-and-so”?
These phrases I cannot endure!
Well, “Sincerely your friend”? No, that is n't quite true.
Or “Yours to command”? That 's too meek.
“Yours as ever”? Oh, shocking! That never would do—
We were strangers till Michaelmas week.
Or “Yours to command”? That 's too meek.
“Yours as ever”? Oh, shocking! That never would do—
We were strangers till Michaelmas week.
75
I have it! I 've written quite fast (we'll suppose).
“Yours in haste.” Ah, that hardly sounds right!
He may take it in literal earnest,—who knows?—
Which would put me in rather a plight.
“Yours in haste.” Ah, that hardly sounds right!
He may take it in literal earnest,—who knows?—
Which would put me in rather a plight.
Dear me! How perplexing! There is an expression
That might tell what he never must know—
And yet, though it almost would be a confession,
He 'd hardly interpret it so.
That might tell what he never must know—
And yet, though it almost would be a confession,
He 'd hardly interpret it so.
'T is so common to use it; I 've written it often,
But ne'er felt its meaning before.
He'll never suspect (ah, I see his eye soften
While scanning my note o'er and o'er).
But ne'er felt its meaning before.
He'll never suspect (ah, I see his eye soften
While scanning my note o'er and o'er).
So I'll say it. Why not? What harm can it do?
'T is written; and now past all mending.
“Yours truly”—I feel as if somehow he knew,
Though it 's really a commonplace ending.
'T is written; and now past all mending.
“Yours truly”—I feel as if somehow he knew,
Though it 's really a commonplace ending.
| Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge | |