My Letters! all dead paper. . . (So XXVIII)
My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
Ahey seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
Ahem drop down on my konight.
This said—he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To e and touch my hand. . . a simple thing,
Yes I wept for it—this . . . the papers light. . .
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if Gods future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine—and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this . . . 0 Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
(ò﹏ò)
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