1. |
2. |
3. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
13. |
14. |
15. |
16. | XVI. HE DID NOT SAY HE LOVED ME. |
17. |
18. |
19. |
20. |
21. |
22. |
23. |
24. |
25. |
26. |
27. |
28. |
29. |
30. |
31. |
32. |
33. |
34. |
35. |
36. |
37. |
38. |
39. |
40. |
41. |
42. |
43. |
44. |
45. |
46. |
47. |
48. |
49. |
50. |
51. |
52. |
53. |
54. |
55. |
56. |
57. |
58. |
59. |
60. |
61. |
62. |
63. |
64. |
65. |
66. |
67. |
68. |
69. |
70. |
71. |
72. |
73. |
74. |
75. |
76. |
77. |
78. |
79. |
80. |
81. |
82. |
83. |
84. |
85. |
86. |
87. |
88. |
89. |
90. |
91. |
92. |
93. |
94. |
95. |
96. |
97. |
98. |
99. |
100. |
101. |
102. |
103. |
104. |
105. |
106. |
107. |
108. |
109. |
110. |
111. |
112. |
113. |
Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ||
XVI. HE DID NOT SAY HE LOVED ME.
He did not say he loved me; yet, oh! he used to bring,
To deck my braided tresses, the fairest flowers of spring!
He did not say he loved me; but in his earnest eyes
I thought I saw the secret a thousand times arise.
To deck my braided tresses, the fairest flowers of spring!
He did not say he loved me; but in his earnest eyes
I thought I saw the secret a thousand times arise.
He did not say he loved me; he did not breathe a vow;
I needed no confession—I read it on his brow.
I met it in his glances; I heard it in his tone;
I ask'd not if he loved me; I felt he was mine own!
I needed no confession—I read it on his brow.
I met it in his glances; I heard it in his tone;
I ask'd not if he loved me; I felt he was mine own!
376
He did not say he loved me; yet, oh! he used to sing
Such songs as thrill the spirit, while feeling tunes the string.
But false his dark eye's smiling, and false my dream as brief;
Alas! for man's beguiling! for woman's fond belief!
Such songs as thrill the spirit, while feeling tunes the string.
But false his dark eye's smiling, and false my dream as brief;
Alas! for man's beguiling! for woman's fond belief!
He did not say he loved me;—why did he ever bring,
To braid amid my tresses the token-flowers of spring?
Why did he look so fondly? why did he speak so low?
Oh! if he did not love me, he should have told me so!
To braid amid my tresses the token-flowers of spring?
Why did he look so fondly? why did he speak so low?
Oh! if he did not love me, he should have told me so!
Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ||