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Woman's Love Letters

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<h2>Gratitude.</h2> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> There are some things, dear Friend, are easier far To say in written words than when we sit Eye answering eye, or hand to hand close knit. Not that there is between us any bar Of shyness or reserve; the day is past For that, and utter trust has come at last. </div> <div class="stanza"> Only, when shut alone and safe inside These four white walls,—hearing no sound except Our own heart-beatings, silences have crept Stealthily round us,—as the incoming tide Quiet and unperceived creeps ever on Till mound and pebble, rock and reef are gone. [Pg 45]</div> <div class="stanza"> Or out on the green hillside, even there There is a hush, and words and thoughts are still. For the trees speak, and myriad voices fill With wondrous echoes all the waiting air. We listen, and in listening must forget Our own hearts' murmur, and our spirits' fret; </div> <div class="stanza"> Even our joys,—thou knowest;—when the air Is full to overflowing with the sense Of hope fulfilled and passion's vehemence. There is no place for words; we do not dare To break Love's stillness, even though the power Were ours by speech to lengthen out the hour. </div> <div class="stanza"> But here in quietness I can recall All I would tell thee, how thou art to me Impulse and inspiration, and with thee I can but smile though all my idols fall. [Pg 46] I wait my meed as others who have known Patience till to their utmost stature grown. </div> <div class="stanza"> As when the heavens are draped in gloomy gray And earth is tremulous with a vague unrest A glory fills the tender, troubled West That glads the closing of November's day, So breaks in sun-smiles my beclouded sky When day is over and I know thee nigh. </div> <div class="stanza"> Thou art so much, all this and more, to me, And what am I to thee? Can I repay These many gifts? Is there no royal way Of recompense, so I may proudly see The man my heart delights to praise renowned For wealth and honor, and with rapture crowned? [Pg 47]</div> <div class="stanza"> Ah! though there is no recompense in love Yet have I paid thee, given these gifts to thee, Joy, riches, worship. Thou hast joy in me, Is it not so, Beloved? Who shall prove No worship of thee by my soul confessed? And riches? Ah! a wealth of love is best. [Pg 48]</div> </div> <hr style="width: 35%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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