"A LETTER FROM TO-MORROW."
191
Still keep the Letter there:—
His boy, the gracious heir
To beauty, love, and hope—a brave enough estate,—
Lets fall his toys and reads,
"Wounded to death!" and heeds.
A coffin for white flowers stands ready at the gate.
His boy, the gracious heir
To beauty, love, and hope—a brave enough estate,—
Lets fall his toys and reads,
"Wounded to death!" and heeds.
A coffin for white flowers stands ready at the gate.
Give her the Letter—see
How fairy-sweet is she,
His girl in her first youth! She droops her flowerlike head,
To read—no charméd tale
Of bridal buds and veil;
But finds a broken ring and leave to earn her bread.
How fairy-sweet is she,
His girl in her first youth! She droops her flowerlike head,
To read—no charméd tale
Of bridal buds and veil;
But finds a broken ring and leave to earn her bread.
Take, now, the Letter where
There 's music in the air,
And let the poet read: "The worm likes well your book."
Painter, if you are he,
Master that is to be,
Your name is not in all this Letter,—only look!
There 's music in the air,
And let the poet read: "The worm likes well your book."
Painter, if you are he,
Master that is to be,
Your name is not in all this Letter,—only look!
Some scented page will bring
This Letter to the king;
To-morrow will he smooth with him and loyal-sweet:
This Letter to the king;
To-morrow will he smooth with him and loyal-sweet:
