My letters! All dead paper, mute and white!And yet they seem alive and quiveringAgainst my tremulous hands which loose the stringAnd let them drop down on my knee to-night. This said, -- he wished to have me in his sightOnce, as a friend: this fixed a day in springTo come and touch my hand.. A simple thing, Yet I wept for it! -- this,.. The paper's light.. Said, Dear I love thee; and I sank and quailedAs if God's future thundered on my past. This said, I am thine -- and so its ink has paledWith lying at my heart that beat too fast. And this.. O Love, thy words have ill availedIf, what this said, I dared repeat at last!