THE LETTER'S TRIUMPH
(A FANCY)
Yes: I perceive it's to your Love
You are bent on sending me. That this is so
Your words and phrases prove!
And now I am folded, and start to go,
Where you, my writer, have no leave to come:
My entry none will know!
And I shall catch her eye, and dumb
She'll keep, should my unnoised arrival be
Hoped for, or troublesome.
My face she'll notice readily:
And, whether she care to meet you, or care not,
She will perforce meet me;
Take me to closet or garden-plot
And, blushing or pouting, bend her eyes quite near,
Moved much, or never a jot.
And while you wait in hope and fear,
Far from her cheeks and lips, snug I shall stay
In close communion there,
And hear her heart-beats, things she may say,
As near her naked fingers, sleeve, or glove
I lie—ha-ha!—all day.
