A LOVE LETTER AND ITS ANSWER.

Darling, I love thee! Other words might tell

A trifle of how dear thou art to me,

But these tell all. Of thee I might have said,

And said in truth, at that, that all thy ways,

Thine every motion, look and glance, as well,

Did charm the inmost recess of my soul:

In words of praise, and those in justice due,

I might the beauties of thy mind portray;

For they outrival charms that in thy face

I see, as elsewhere I have failed to find:

Thy modesty, thy grace, thy love of all

That tends to elevate, to purify,

And make a fellow mortal happier,

I might have dwelt on to a length that thou,

And thou alone, deserves from one whose pen

Is feeble in thy praise as is mine own.

Still, had I done so, and withheld the words,

“I love thee!” I had never told thee half.

I love thee, darling! Ah! indeed, I do!

Beyond the shadow of a doubt, I love,

And such a one as any prince or king

Might gladly love and proudly call his own.

But, come to think, this love is all I have:

No titled rank is mine — no Astor's wealth;

And one you know, can n't live on love alone;

Ah, no! But better starve for lack of bread

Than want of love; for when we starve for bread,

And hunger knaws with all its well-known force,

A day and all desire for food grows weak,

And in its stead one craves but rest and sleep:

These come, and few the days ere dreamless sleep

Supplies the place of all desires and pains.

But, starve for love, and when doth come relief?

The weary soul still lives, or drags along —

As pris'ner doomed for life goes to his work;

Ambitionless it moves, its purpose dead,

Yet ling'ring like‘ twere powerless to go;

Struggling‘ twixt hope and fear, as thro’ the bars

A gleam of sunshine flitters now and then,

Glad'ning the while it shines, to leave more dark

The gloomy dungeon of an unloved life;

Moving, as moves the lifeless rock or ore

When those with life exert o'er it their power;

Living! Ah, yes! But devil never cursed

His vilest victim with a death so dread;

Standing, as stands an engine on the track,

Perfectly built in all its mighty parts,

Its boiler and its furnace amply fed,

Yet powerless. But, let the flame of love

Touch but one splinter of the waiting pyre,

And all is changed. In gladsome bounds the blaze

Leaps on and on, till burning with one flame,

The fire warms the slumb'ring soul to life;

Warms till, as love directs, its living proves —

When under wisdom's hands — man's highest bliss.

Yes, when love fills the heart, behold how strong,

How powerful one stands! His muscles ache

With pure strength, and long for that on which

Their latent power to show; and not alone

In idle longings doth a lover stand,

But works alike with both his head and hands

To gain desired ends. Doth one lack means?

Then love supplies a purpose and desire,

And rests not still till they are at command.

Doth one feel weak? Then love doth make him strong.

Is one a slave to appetite or care?

Then love doth free him from the galling chains.

Doth one lack knowledge or attainments rare?

Then love spurs on till all of these are gained.

Yes love, and that alone, is all I have;

But, darling, having that, I offer thee

More than all else another man can give,

Who hath abundance, and is rich in all

Save love, and that for thee, and thee alone.

This is my plea. I stand and wait my fate.

If thou dost love me, darling, tell me so;

If not — but that can never be, I know.