Classic Poem

In my most quiet need your letter came
Trippingly, like some light-hearted breeze
Sporting its faery form amongst the trees,
Or like an amorous song too sweet to name
Stirring the gentler yearnings in my frame.
Dear letter, and thou dearer thing that wrote
The words therein, each breathing like a note
Of music, putting my own poor art to shame,—

How shall I answer,—you whose heart of love
Finds room for me, so spacious is its realm,
Must teach me utterance as gracious too—
In words or music? And if aught above
These two there be that can the heart o'erwhelm
It is in silence—which now speaks to you.