This said, I am thine—and so its ink has paled

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

To come and touch my hand九_九_藏_書. . . a simple thing,

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

Against my tremulous hands which loos九_九_藏_書e the string

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

Anreaｄ.99csｗ•coｍd let them drop down on my knee tonight.

My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!

And yet they seem alive and quivering

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

With lying at my heart that beat too fast.

九-九-藏-書And this . . . 0 Love, thy words have ill availed

This said—he wished to have me in his sight

As if Gods future thundered on my past.