 | "Her Letter to Him" |  |
HER LETTER TO HIM
267
How shall I write to the dear one I love?
The thoughts that I send must form cloth of gold,
Both warp and woof, of words throbbing with life.
Sweet must they be, yet not too sweet. Oh, no!
Just the faint memory of other days
Must they suggest; happy, too, must they be;
Yet a fine sadness must read 'tween the lines.
Not, like a child, say crudely I miss him,
My heart is aching to hear his dear voice;
Yet must he see the sad curve of my lips.
He must hope that he is breaking my heart
By his absence — hope, not be sure. Oh, no!
Oh, this letter! It must blow hot and cold,
Demure, a bit impish be, shy and gay;
Frank, too, yet not too frank — not one small word
May be said that would face me and shame me.
It must hold lips to be kissed, yet not hint —
Yet not hint that I — how can I say it?
It must make him fly to me, tell his love,
Clasp me close in his arms; yet not reveal
One word of my secret. Oh, this letter!
Was there e'er such a task as this of mine —
To write my heart's message to my beloved?
Laura Withrow
| "Her Letter to Him" | |