The Sun On The Letter

I drew the letter out, while gleamed The sloping sun from under a roof Of cloud whose verge rose visibly. The burning ball flung rays that seemed Stretched like a warp without a woof Across the levels of the lea To where I stood, and where they beamed As brightly on the page of proof That she had shown her false to me As if it had shown her true—had teemed With passionate thought for my behoof Expressed with their own ardency!