Sonnet 28: My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!

My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!

And yet they seem alive and quivering

Against my tremulous hands which loose the string

And let them drop down on my knee to-night.

This said, 'he wished to have me in his sight

Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring

To come and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,

Yet I wept for it! 'this, . . . the paper's light . . .

Said, Dear, I love

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