Can yet loudly caress the inner ear
With love's soft and folding melodies...you,
Here, not at the end of a letter's far
Trek, are by far the more desired. Those
Letters and songs I give you, though they give
Warm and long of my love, can be but prose
From a poet. For in you truly lives
Rime. Your breath is meter. Voice and laughter
Tone. Face and form the form and length of all
I could ever hope to read. For after
Reading you, and knowing your words, the fall
`tween God's work, you, and mortal's effort is
More than I should attempt, but do, with this.
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