Xii

“And, uninstructed, smiled and wrote ‘despair,’ Enamoured, yet fearful of the shade that should Some day come stealing through my silent door To sit unbidden through the lonely hours.-- I cast the shudder off, and in the fields Found hope again, and beauty born of dreams: For it was summer, and all living things, The common flowers and the birds and bees, Became interpreters of love for me:

Say that he can not tell her how he loves her-- Words, for such adoration, often fail,-- When but a bow of ribbon, glove that gloves her, Clothes her fair femininity in mail.

So many ways and wisdoms to express what To th’ language of devotion is denied; Ambassadors to make the maiden guess what Before her heart’s high fortress long has sighed.

A bird to sing his secret--she’ll perpend him: A bee to bid her soul to hear and see: A blossom, like a sweet appeal, to bend him, Before her there, upon a worshiping knee.