I wear the paper out, my dear Sue,

I wear the paper out, my dear Sue, Reading thy words o'er and o'er, A silent West keeps thee from me, Yet "Precious treasure, thou art mine" —I whisper to the door. “Instrumental” The maples turn to autumn gold, And I am naughty, cross, alone, But in thy bosom, love and rest, Are stored for me—a heart of stone Melts when thy letter is my own. “Instrumental” Come home and let our eyes Whisper what the tongue cannot, I need not language—only thee, To make a heaven of this spot, "Sue—forevermore!"—my lot.