The Letter

What is she writing? Watch her now,
How fast ______ fingers move!
How eagerly her youthful brow
Is bent ______ thought above!
Her long curls, drooping, shade the light,
______ puts them quick aside,
Nor knows that band of ______ bright,
Her hasty touch untied.
It slips down her ______ dress,
Falls glittering at her feet;
Unmarked it falls, ______ she no less
Pursues her labour sweet.

The very ______ hour that shines,
Is in that deep blue sky;
______ golden sun of June declines,
It has not caught ______ eye.
The cheerful lawn, and unclosed gate,
The white road, far away,
In vain for her light footsteps wait,
______ comes not forth to-day.
There is an open door ______ glass
Close by that lady’s chair,
From thence, to ______ of messy grass,
Descends a marble stair.

Tall plants ______ bright and spicy bloom
Around the threshold grow;
Their ______ and blossoms shade the room
From that sun’s deepening glow.
Why does she not a moment glance
Between the ______ flowers,
And mark in heaven the radiant dance
Of evening’s rosy hours?
O look again! Still fixed her eye,
Unsmiling, earnest, still,
And fast her pen and fingers fly,
______ by her eager will.

Her soul is in th’absorbing task;
To whom, then, doth she write?
Nay, watch her ______ more closely, ask
Her own eyes’ serious light;
Where ______ they turn, as now her pen
Hangs o’er th’unfinished line?
Whence fell the tearful gleam that then
Did in ______ dark spheres shine?
The summer-parlour looks so dark,
When ______ that sky you turn,
And from th’expanse of that ______ park,
You scarce may aught discern.

Yet, o’er the ______ of porcelain rare,
O’er flower-stand, couch, and vase,
Sloped, ______ if leaning on the air,
One picture meets the gaze.
‘Tis there she turns; you may not see
Distinct, ______ form defines
The clouded mass of mystery
Yon broad ______ frame confines.
But look again; inured to shade
Your ______ now faintly trace
A stalwart form, a massive head,
______ firm, determined face.

Black Spanish locks, a sunburnt cheek
______ brow high, broad, and white,
Where every furrow seems ______ speak
Of mind and moral might.
Is that her god? I cannot tell;
Her eye a moment met
Th’impending picture, then it fell
Darkened and dimmed and wet.
A ______ more, her task is done,
And sealed the letter lies;
And now, towards the setting sun
She turns her ______ eyes.

Those tears flow over, wonder not,
For by ______ inscription see
In what a strange and distant spot
______ heart of hearts must be!
Three seas and many ______ league of land
That letter must pass o’er,
Ere ______ by him to whose loved hand
‘Tis sent from England’s shore.
Remote colonial wilds detain
Her husband, loved though stern;
She, ‘mid that smiling English scene,
Weeps for his ______ return.

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