“YOURS TRULY.”

“Yours truly,” she signs the note; ah, me! How little she dreams what that would be To him who, trembling, reads the line,— What if, indeed, she were truly mine! What visions those two dear words can bring To the lonely heart that is hungering For a single touch of her dainty hand, One swift, shy glance he could understand, And know that the formal greeting sent But half concealed what the writer meant,— That she gave, throughout the eternities, Her own sweet self, to be truly his! There, there!—that fire, how it smokes—what, tears? I’ll answer her letter— “Dear Friend, I’ve fears Your kind invitation I can’t accept; still I’ll come if it’s possible. Yours truly, Will.”