[Sealed and anonymously hand delivered. The poem is again hand written in graceful cursive, and the envelope with a wax seal.
This time there is no code hidden within the text, but there is a short message scrawled at the bottom. Invisible to the naked eye, but nothing a little lemon juice can't fix. Jim chose not to code the poem itself this time, for obvious reasons. The poem, after all, is about not being able to say how you feel. Oscar Wilde is a personal favorite of his.]
As oftentimes the too resplendent sun Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won A single ballad from the nightingale, So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail, And all my sweetest singing out of tune.
And as at dawn across the level mead On wings impetuous some wind will come, And with its too harsh kisses break the reed Which was its only instrument of song, So my too stormy passions work me wrong, And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.
But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung; Else it were better we should part, and go, Thou to some lips of sweeter melody, And I to nurse the barren memory Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.
[ The hidden note: Tomorrow night. At the club. Your company is invaluable.]