In Olden Days

Love that’s lasting, love that’s strong,
Has inner mast’ry, inner song.

In olden days when letters flew—
One a month, from her to you—
‘T was thought alone that played the stage,
The mind and spirit paid the wage.
No sound of voice, no pic so fair,
Could tell you if true love was there.
Her thinking—that was all you knew,
The best of her came shining through.
Love’s mental play of word with word,
The lilting laugh that is not heard,
The wit, the tease, the light leg-pull,
Poetic line so beautiful—
All this, and more, of love’s self, true,
Came wafting o’er the waves to you.
Imagination played real part
In life’s ideal, romantic heart.
And when you met—oh what a meet!
The whole ripe world was yours to greet!
Her face, her hair, her hands, her eyes,
Through written words idealized,
Are now so radiant, sharp and true
There is a harp that plays through you—
A harp of life and not of death—
Earth-haven of your happiness!

Love that’s lasting, love that’s strong,
Has inner mast’ry, inner song.

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