 | The Uncollected Poems of Henry Timrod |  |
95
SONNET
IF ONE WHOSE NAME
If one whose name I may not give to air,With naught to aid her but her woman's art,
And the true key of her own pitying heart,
Should trace the records I have entered here,
The gathered fragrance of one bounteous year;
Oh! would she guess, oh! could that heart divine
How love beneath each unexplainèd sign,
Hides a wild hope it only speaks in prayer!
Alas! the thought is idle! What should teach,
In this blank page, that every simple date
Calls her to pity or to bless my fate,
With tenderer and more passionate demands,
Than if with my whole spirit wreaked in speech,
I prayed on bended knees, with claspèd hands!
| The Uncollected Poems of Henry Timrod | |