OLD LETTERS

Read them? Strangle that sick cry?

Christ God, no!

Shut the box. Lock the lid.

You'll be safer — so.

Could you read one crookéd word

Scrawled so long ago,

Love would rise before your face

And blind you, like a blow.

Close it! Quickly! For I caught,

In a childish hand,

Something that she never thought

I should understand.

So I crouch. And shall our God

Prove Him baser yet,

He who filled her eyes with light

Quite renounce His debt,

Give her worlds to love, and then —

Ere the sun be set,

Strike her down and coffin all?

Christ, shall He forget?

Close it! Quickly! For I caught,

In a childish hand,

Something that she never thought

I should understand.