A Maiden's Secret

I have written this day down in my heart As the sweetest day in the season; From all of the others I've set it apart— But I will not tell you the reason. That is my secret—I must not tell; But the skies are soft and tender, And never before, I know full well, Was the earth so full of splendor.

I sing at my labor the whole day long, And my heart is as light as a feather; And there is a reason for my glad song Besides the beautiful weather. But I will not tell it to you; and though That thrush in the maple heard it, And would shout it aloud if he could, I know He hasn't the power to word it.

Up, where I was sewing, this morn came one Who told me the sweetest stories, He said I had stolen my hair from the sun, And my eyes from the morning glories. Grandmother says that I must not believe A word men say, for they flatter; But I'm sure he would never try to deceive For he told me—but there—no matter!

Last night I was sad, and the world to me Seemed a lonely and dreary dwelling, But some one then had not asked me to be— There now! I am almost telling. Not another word shall my two lips say, I will shut them fast together, And never a mortal shall know to-day Why my heart is as light as a feather.