A LETTER. EAR, I tried to write you such a letter better; Easier, too, a thousand times, to say. I can tell you all: fears, doubts unheeding, Yet I wrote it through, then lingered, thinking Of its reaching you,-what hour, what day; Till I felt my heart and courage sinking With a strange, new, wondering dismay. "Will my letter fall," I wondered sadly, "On her mood like some discordant tone, Or be welcomed tenderly and gladly? Will she be with others, or alone? "It may find her too absorbed to read it, "Shall I dare I-risk the chances?" slowly Something, was it shyness, love, or pride?— Chilled my heart, and checked my courage wholly; So I laid it wistfully aside. Then I leant against the casement, turning Where the golden evening light was burning, And I thought: "Love's soul is not in fetters, "If, perhaps now, while my tears are falling, She is dreaming quietly alone, She will hear my Love's far echo calling, Feel my spirit drawing near her own. "She will hear, while twilight shades enfold her, All the gathered Love she knows so wellDeepest Love my words have ever told her, Deeper still-all I could never tell. : "Wondering at the strange mysterious power That has touched her heart, then she will say :'Some one whom I love this very hour, Thinks of me, and loves me, far away.' "If, as well may be, to-night has found her Full of other thoughts, with others by, Through the words and claims that gather round her She will hear just one, half-smothered sigh; "Or will marvel why, without her seeking, Or, while listening to another speaking, So I dreamed, and watched the stars' far splendour Glimmering on the azure darkness, start,— While the star of trust rose bright and tender, Through the twilight shadows of my heart. A COMFORTER. I. ILL she come to me, little Effie, Will she come in my arms to rest, And nestle her head on my shoulder, While the sun goes down in the west? II. "I and Effie will sit together, All alone, in this great arm-chair: Is it silly to mind it, darling, When Life is so hard to bear? III. "No one comforts me like my Effie, Just I think that she does not try,— Only looks with a wistful wonder Why grown people should ever cry; IV. "While her little soft arms close tighter Round my neck in their clinging hold :— Well, I must not cry on your hair, dear, For my tears might tarnish the gold. V. "I am tired of trying to read, dear; 66 VI. Ah, advice may be wise, my darling, But one always knows it before; And the reasoning down one's sorrow Seems to make one suffer the more. VII. "But my Effie won't reason, will she? Or endeavour to understand; Only holds up her mouth to kiss me, As she strokes my face with her hand. |