Phoebe Carey

Sept 4, 1824 - 1871


Burning The Letters

by Phoebe Carey

I said that they were valueless, --
I'd rather have them not, --
All that since made them precious
Was, or should have been, forgot;
I would do it very willingly,
And not because I ought, --
But I did not, somehow, find it
Quite so easy as I thought.

One was full of pleasant flattery; --
I do not think I'm vain,
And yet I paused a moment
To read it once again.
One repeated dear, old phrases
I had heard a thousand times;
I had read him once some verses,
And another praised my rhymes.

One was just exactly like him, --
Such a pretty little note!
One was interspersed with poetry
That lovers always quote.
I don't know why I read them
Unless 't was just to know,
Since they once had been so precious
What had ever made them so.

I had told him when we parted
To think no more of me;
And I'm sure he 's nothing to me, --
Indeed, why should he be?
Yet the flame sunk down to ashes,
And I sat and held them still;
But I said that I would burn them, --
And, some other time, I will!


The Poems Of Phoebe Carey
Copyright 187_?
New York: Hurst And Company
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