Unsent Letters
I'VE a box of my own, for myself, and no one has the key,
It is filled with the trifles that matter, and thoughts without end;
With the loves I have lost, and the joys that were taken from me,
And there, in a pile, are the letters I never shall send.
There are letters to you, and there's many a letter to him,
Full of fancies forgotten, and follies once dear to a friend,
I look at them seldom, but always with eyes that are dim,
And I dare not re-read them, the letters I never shall send.
I wish I had sent them, for life might have given me much,
Which now is denied, had I had but the courage to spend,
But the words rest unread, since I shrank from the definite touch
Putting fate to the proof, in the letters I never shall send.
And you ask for your share, in surprise, as you see my tears fall.
But there isn't a sentence to spare, or a line I would lend:
They shall go 'neath the daisy quilt with me, each letter and all,
For Death must still leave me the letters I never shall send!