Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring

To come and touch my hand. . . a simple thing,

This said, I am thine—and九_九_藏_书_网 so its ink has paled

Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed

And yet they seem alive and quivering

My lette藏书网rs! all dead paper, mute and white!

And this . . . 0 Love, thy words have ill availed

Against my tremulous hands which loose the string

This said—he wished to have me in his sight

Yes I wept for it—this . . . the papers light.

九九藏书网

. .

And let them drop down on my knee tonight.

As if Gods future thundered on my past.

If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!

With lying at my heart that beat too fast.