 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
LXX. SPEAK, SPEAK TO ME, DARLING.
“Speak, speak to me, darling!
Hide thy sweet blush in my breast;
Breathe but one dear little murmur;
Thine eyes shall tell me the rest.
Hide thy sweet blush in my breast;
Breathe but one dear little murmur;
Thine eyes shall tell me the rest.
“Say only thou wilt be mine, love;
Whisper me one little ‘Yes!’
Ah! thou art silent,—thy soul, love,
Feels not my pleading caress!”
Whisper me one little ‘Yes!’
423
Feels not my pleading caress!”
Low as the sigh of a flower,
Heard in the stillness of night,
Came the fond tones of the maiden,
Trembling with fear and delight,—
Heard in the stillness of night,
Came the fond tones of the maiden,
Trembling with fear and delight,—
“Ask not the word from my lips, love;
Need'st thou so idle a sign?
Dost thou not hear my heart answer,
Thus beating softly on thine?”
Need'st thou so idle a sign?
Dost thou not hear my heart answer,
Thus beating softly on thine?”
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |