Poems (Greenwell)/The First Letter
THE FIRST LETTER.
Not since the breeze that took Thy soul by kind surprise, and turning o'er Its pages on a sudden, let me look Upon my name ere yet thou wast aware (Keep thou that leaf turned ever down, that there The book may open soonest!) have I known A moment like to this;
A moment like to this;I keep thy seal Unbroken, as it were thy hand in mine; I hold it clasped in silence, till I feel A warmth hath reached my spirit; then I ope These pages, confident as one with Hope In certain league; I need but touch this spring That now I play with to and fro, to bring Thy Presence on the stillness; these enclose Thy spirit shut within them. Even now Thy soul's breath is upon them—as a Rose Fresh plucked and dewy with the morning, thou Hast sent me of thine inner life that glows In sweetness; fain am I, yet know not how,To send thee thus each fancy as it blows; But while I gather these my thoughts, they fade, And pressed upon the page their colours fly, And all their sap runs from them, wan and dry, Like withered flowers within a herbal laid; And this may be, perchance, because my heart Hath been alike their cradle and their tomb,Close folded there too long, their hues depart,—Yet press them unto thine, and they will bloom!