[Her poor heart, twisted and crushed. And yet, she swallows it down, because she can't compromise her false identity, and cannot bear to see him unhappy.]

My dearest lord, I only but await
Thy whim. Seek not to trap thyself with words.
Consider first the colors, flavors, scents
That move thy heart and let them be thy guide.

[She cannot help giving pause for a moment, tentatively adding,]

And yet, sweet lord, though I pause to mention
Your letters I have carried faithfully.
But distance may make absent hearts seem fond
When in truth it causes hearts to forget.
Your missives have been granted no reply.
I would not have silence empty your heart.