Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924. |
Part Three: Love
XXIII
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| “GOING to him! Happy letter! Tell him— | |
| Tell him the page I did n’t write; | |
| Tell him I only said the syntax, | |
| And left the verb and the pronoun out. | |
| Tell him just how the fingers hurried, | 5 |
| Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow; | |
| And then you wished you had eyes in your pages, | |
| So you could see what moved them so. | |
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| “Tell him it was n’t a practised writer, | |
| You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled; | 10 |
| You could hear the bodice tug, behind you, | |
| As if it held but the might of a child; | |
| You almost pitied it, you, it worked so. | |
| Tell him—No, you may quibble there, | |
| For it would split his heart to know it, | 15 |
| And then you and I were silenter. | |
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| “Tell him night finished before we finished, | |
| And the old clock kept neighing ‘day!’ | |
| And you got sleepy and begged to be ended— | |
| What could it hinder so, to say? | 20 |
| Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious, | |
| But if he ask where you are hid | |
| Until to-morrow,—happy letter! | |
| Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!” | |
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