Her Letter, His Answer & Her Last Letter

 
 
 
Well, well, it's all past; yet it's funny
To think, as I stood in the glare
Of fashion and beauty and money,
That I should be thinking, right there,
Of some one who breasted high water,
And swam the North Fork, and all that,
Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter,
The Lily of Poverty Flat.
 
 
But goodness! what nonsense I'm writing!
(Mamma says my taste still is low),
Instead of my triumphs reciting,
I'm spooning on Joseph, – heigh-ho!
And I'm to be "finished" by travel, —
Whatever's the meaning of that.
Oh, why did papa strike pay gravel
In drifting on Poverty Flat?
 
 
Good-night! – here's the end of my paper;
Good-night! – if the longitude please, —
For maybe, while wasting my taper,
Your sun's climbing over the trees.
But know, if you haven't got riches,
And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that,
That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches,
And you've struck it, – on Poverty Flat.
 

HIS ANSWER

 
Being asked by an intimate party, —
Which the same I would term as a friend, —
Though his health it were vain to call hearty,
Since the mind to deceit it might lend;
For his arm it was broken quite recent,
And there's something gone wrong with his lung, —
Which is why it is proper and decent
I should write what he runs off his tongue.
 
 
First, he says, Miss, he's read through your letter
To the end, – and "the end came too soon;"
That a "slight illness kept him your debtor,"
(Which for weeks he was wild as a loon);
That "his spirits are buoyant as yours is;"
That with you, Miss, he "challenges Fate"
(Which the language that invalid uses
At times it were vain to relate).
 
 
And he says "that the mountains are fairer
For once being held in your thought;"
That each rock "holds a wealth that is rarer
Than ever by gold-seeker sought."
(Which are words he would put in these pages,
By a party not given to guile;
Though the claim not, at date, paying wages,
Might produce in the sinful a smile.)
 
 
He remembers the ball at the Ferry,
And the ride, and the gate, and the vow,
And the rose that you gave him, – that very
Same rose he is "treasuring now."
(Which his blanket he's kicked on his trunk, Miss,