Before I hammered out a word,
How could I dream you’d heard a sentence?
Or when with all the warmth of youth
I strove to prove my love no fiction,
How could I guess I urged a truth
On one already past conviction?
How could I dream that ivory part,
Your hand—where I have looked and lingered;
Altho’ it stole away my heart,
Had been held up as one light-fingered?