Little cramped words scrawling all over <br /> the paper <br />Like draggled fly's legs, <br />What can you tell of the flaring moon <br />Through the oak leaves? <br />Or of my uncertain window and the <br /> bare floor <br /> <br />Spattered with moonlight? <br />Your silly quirks and twists have nothing <br /> in them <br />Of blossoming hawthorns, <br />And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth, <br /> virgin of loveliness <br />Beneath my hand. <br /> <br />I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart <br /> against <br />The want of you; <br />Of squeezing it into little inkdrops, <br />And posting it. <br />And I scald alone, here, under the fire <br />Of the great moon. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Venus<br /><br />Amy Lowell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-letter-2/
