A patchbox; a stray match—that's all,
All but a few small treasured scraps
Of paper; things forbid perhaps—
See how slowly Ann unties
The packet where her heartache lies;
Watch her lips move; she slants a letter
Up towards the moon to read it better,
(The moon may master what he can).
R stands for Richard, A for Ann
And L ... at this the old moon blinks