 | Poems |  |
TELL ME, MY HEART.
How will she look if we tell her we love her,
Tell her, my heart,
All the sweet secrets we only tell over,
From all apart!
How will she hear them? Ah! will the flush start
To her neck and white forehead, and murmur they move her,
Ay, throbbing heart?
Tell her, my heart,
All the sweet secrets we only tell over,
From all apart!
How will she hear them? Ah! will the flush start
To her neck and white forehead, and murmur they move her,
Ay, throbbing heart?
Ah, no—far rather, as ever I'm fearing,
With calm, cold eyes,
Will she not, unmoved, just deign us a hearing,
Scarce with surprise,
No cheek deeper dyed—in her bosom, no rise,
No tremble of passion to be so endearing,
To us, her replies!
With calm, cold eyes,
Will she not, unmoved, just deign us a hearing,
Scarce with surprise,
No cheek deeper dyed—in her bosom, no rise,
No tremble of passion to be so endearing,
To us, her replies!
Do we deceive us, heart! is it but seeming!
Whisper fond heart;
Surely our eyes see, or are they but dreaming!
Does she not start,
Hearing my voice, and then still to a part,
As if, to act the cold maiden, she's scheming?
Masks she not, heart?
Whisper fond heart;
Surely our eyes see, or are they but dreaming!
Does she not start,
Hearing my voice, and then still to a part,
As if, to act the cold maiden, she's scheming?
Masks she not, heart?
Ah, did we know what her dear heart is feeling!
Could we but share,
On its sweet hidden hopes stealthily stealing,
All that is there!
Then, if our dreams were true—then should we dare
Ask her to breathe all that now she's concealing,
All nestling there!
Could we but share,
382
All that is there!
Then, if our dreams were true—then should we dare
Ask her to breathe all that now she's concealing,
All nestling there!
| Poems | |