English poem
The Secret
by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay (1875–1928)
IF I should tell you what I know Of where the first primroses grow, Betray the secrets of the lily, Bring crocus-gold and daffodilly, Would you tell me if charm there be To win a maiden, willy-nilly?
I lie upon the fragrant heath, Kin to the beating heart beneath; The nesting plover I discover Nor stir the scented screen above her, Yet am I blind—I cannot find What turns a maiden to her lover!
Through all the mysteries of May, Initiate, I take my way— Sure as the blithest lark or linnet To touch the pulsing soul within it— Yet with no art to reach Her heart, Nor skill to teach me how to win it!