The speaker sends a love letter off like a trusted messenger, coaching it on what to confide and what to hide. She admits she couldn’t bring herself to write in full sentences — just the bare shape of words — and describes how her hand raced with eagerness, then hesitated, as if wading through deep water. She even wishes the paper had eyes to understand her own trembling urgency. There’s a playful, self-deprecating tone when she calls herself no “Practised Writer” and imagines her bodice tugging like something a child is barely strong enough to hold. Then comes a swerve: she warns the letter not to reveal how hard she worked, because it would break his heart and leave them both even quieter than before. The closing lines grow coy — if he asks where she is, the letter should just give a flirtatious little shake of the head. The mood is breathless, tender, and sly, catching that moment when longing teeters between confession and playful concealment.
Going to Him! Happy letter! — Summary
Going to Him! Happy letter! Tell Him -- Tell Him the page I didn't write -- Tell Him -- I only said the Syntax -- And left the Verb and the pronoun out -- Tell Him just how the fingers hurried -- Then -- how they waded -- slow -- slow -- And then you wished you had eyes in your pages -- So you could see what moved them so --
Tell Him -- it wasn't a Practised Writer -- You guessed -- from the way the sentence toiled -- You could hear the Bodice tug, behind you -- As if it held but the might of a child -- You almost pitied it -- you -- it worked so -- Tell Him -- no -- you may quibble there -- For it would split His Heart, to know it -- And then you and I, were silenter.
Tell Him -- Night finished -- before we finished -- And the Old Clock kept neighing "Day"! And you -- got sleepy -- and begged to be ended -- What could it hinder so -- to say? Tell Him -- just how she sealed you -- Cautious! But -- if He ask where you are hid Until tomorrow -- Happy letter! Gesture Coquette -- and shake your Head!