My dear, my dear, you are writing,
And l hope it is quiet for you.
If you find my poem too exciting
Let it not be o’er-whelming to you.
Allow it to rise in your heart, dear,
In beats ever steady and strong,
And know it is only a part, dear,
Of love that is soaring in song.
I’d not have you up late with writing
Unless you were sure that you could,
For when love late at night is exciting
You’re inclined to do more than you should.
I think you and picture you clearly;
I bestow all my kisses and love.
I want you and yearn for you dearly,
As you wing in my mind a sweet dove.
I’m smiling, my dear, l am smiling,
As l thinking you writing at night.
Swift stroke of your hand is beguiling;
Oh, my lips! Could they catch it in flight!