The welcome news is in the letter found;
The carrier's not commission'd to expound;
It speaks itself, read more

The welcome news is in the letter found;
The carrier's not commission'd to expound;
It speaks itself, and what it does contain,
In all things needful to be known is plain.

Line after line my gushing eye o'erflow,
Led thro' a said variety of woe:
Now warm in read more

Line after line my gushing eye o'erflow,
Led thro' a said variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!

Letters, from absent friends, extinguish fear,
Unite division, and draw distance near;
Their magic force each silent read more

Letters, from absent friends, extinguish fear,
Unite division, and draw distance near;
Their magic force each silent wish conveys,
And wafts embodied though, a thousand ways:
Could souls to bodies write, death's pow'r were mean,
For minds could then meet minds with heav'n between.

Belshazzar had a letter,--
He never had but one;
Belshazzar's correspondence
Concluded and begun
read more

Belshazzar had a letter,--
He never had but one;
Belshazzar's correspondence
Concluded and begun
In that immortal copy
The conscience of us all
Can read without its glasses
On revelation's wall.

An exquisite invention this,
Worthy of Love's most honeyed kiss,--
This art of writing billet-doux--
read more

An exquisite invention this,
Worthy of Love's most honeyed kiss,--
This art of writing billet-doux--
In buds, and odors, and bright hues!
In saying all one feels and thinks
In clever daffodils and pinks;
In puns of tulips; and in phrases,
Charming for their truth, of daisies.

Ev'n so, with all submission, I
. . . .
Send you each year a homely letter,
read more

Ev'n so, with all submission, I
. . . .
Send you each year a homely letter,
Who may return me much a better.

The postman always rings twice.

The postman always rings twice.

Thy letter sent to prove me,
Inflicts no sense of wrong;
No longer wilt thou love me,--
read more

Thy letter sent to prove me,
Inflicts no sense of wrong;
No longer wilt thou love me,--
Thy letter, though is long.

Now my days are swifter than a post: they flee away, they see no
good.

Now my days are swifter than a post: they flee away, they see no
good.