The Sun on the Letter

    I drew the letter out, while gleamed
    The sloping sun from under a roof
    Of cloud whose verge rose visibly.

    The burning ball flung rays that seemed
    Stretched like a warp without a woof
    Across the levels of the lea

    To where I stood, and where they beamed
    As brightly on the page of proof
    That she had shown her false to me

    As if it had shown her true — had teemed
    With passionate thought for my behoof
    Expressed with their own ardency!

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