For years I have been fond of a sonnet, “Midcentury Love Letter,” written by the once popular, now forgotten Phyllis McGinley (1905-1978), first published in The New Yorker in 1953 and collected in The Love Letters of Phyllis McGinley (1954):
“Stay near me. Speak my name. Oh, do not wander
By a thought’s span, heart’s impulse, from the light
We kindle here. You are my sole defender
(As I am yours) in this precipitous night,
Which over earth, till common landmarks alter,
Is falling, without stars, and bitter cold.
We two have but our burning selves for shelter.
Huddle against me. Give me your hand to hold.
“So might two climbers lost in mountain weather
On a high slope and taken by the storm,
Desperate in the darkness, cling together
Under one cloak and breathe each other warm.
Stay near me. Spirit, perishable as bone,
In no such winter can survive alone.”