Thus we embraced as intimates of mind,

In cursive lines each traced the other’s face,

On paper prisms, hearts were rayed in kind

Though never having basked beneath shared gaze.

I fell in love through romanced sight of soul

That rose hand graven from sweet perfumed ink,

By words alone, my love you seemed to know,

And of your kindness, often I did think

How two of separate peace might be so one—

And though imagined, still we spoke in tune

Where every line there written seemed a song

That caused my pride and purpose so to swoon.

Each week a scented letter bore your name;

Until one day on paper—hope lay slain.