To C. C. L.

I pause upon the threshold, Charlotte dear,
To write thy name; so may my book acquire
One golden leaf. For Some yet sojourn here
Who come and go in homeliest attire,
Unknown, or only by the few who see
The cross they bear, the good that they have wrought:
Of such art thou, and I have found in thee
The love and truth that HE, the MASTER, taught;
Thou likest thy humble poet, canst thou say
With truth, dear Charlotte?--"And I like his lay."