Love’S Language

Just now a wave of perfume floated up To greet my senses as I broke the seal Of her short letter; and I still can feel It stir me as a saint the holy cup.

The missive lies there,--but a few plain words: A thought about a song, a note of praise, And social duties such as fill the days Of women; then a thing that undergirds

The phrases like a psalm: a line that reads-- “I wish that you were coming!” Why, it lies Upon my heart like blossoms on the skies,

Like breath of balm upon the clover meads. The perfumed words soothe me into a dream; My thoughts float to her on the scented stream.