A Letter

A Letter
1861

0 Spring with your morning’s made allout of music,
Your sunsets of radiant rose colored flame,
Yourstarlight and moonlight your perfume and color,
I read all your secrets since my letter came

I know, now, West Wind, why at your tender whisper
The sweet apple blossoms blush exquisite pink:
I know all the sadness and madness and gladness
Of your little heart, when you sing, bobolink

I know why you love the great sunand his glances,
You wonderful shimmering glimmering dew;
I know how your heart aches, Earth, in its rapture,
When down bends the sky toward you, heavenly blue

Oworld you have color and fragrance and music,
Yet what do you know of a letter like this?
No words can be found sweet enough for its answer-
I’ll put it all-all, when he comes, in akiss!
Alice EAllen