THE LETTER.
"GOING to him! Happy letter! Tell him-- Tell him the page I did n't write;
Tell him I only said the syntax, And left the verb and the pronoun out.
Tell him just how the fingers hurried, Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow;And then you wished you had eyes in your pages, So you could see what moved them so.
"Tell him it was n't a practised writer, You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled;You could hear the bodice tug, behind you, As if it held but the might of a child;You almost pitied it, you, it worked so.
Tell him -- No, you may quibble there, For it would split his heart to know it, And then you and I were silenter.
"Tell him night finished before we finished, And the old clock kept neighing 'day!'
And you got sleepy and begged to be ended-- What could it hinder so, to say?
Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious, But if he ask where you are hid Until to-morrow, -- happy letter!
Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!"
