On A Letter

SUNBEAMS can fling no purer brightness o'er the sea
And rain-showers bring no surer blessing to the lea,
And lilies wing with no more sweetness the gold bee,
Than those few lines thy hand has penned have brought to me.

Soft lies the silent fall of snow
Upon the hemlock tree;
Soft lies the moonlight's silver flow
Upon the troubled sea.

Sweet on the blossom of the vines
The night-dews drop from high;
But softer, sweeter far, thy lines
Upon my spirit lie.

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