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!"