I Whispered to the Bobolink

I WHISPERED to the bobolink: "Sweet singer of the field, Teach me a song to reach a heart In maiden armor steeled."

"If there be such a song," sang he, "No bird can tell its mystery."

I bent above the sweetest rose, A deeper sweet to stir— "O Rose," I begged, "what charm will wake The deep, sweet heart of her?"

"Alas, poor lover," sighed the rose, "The charm you seek no flower knows."

I wandered by the midnight lake Where heaven lay confessed "Tell me," I cried, "what draws the stars To lie upon your breast?"

The silence woke to soft reply "When Heaven stoops—demand not why!"

"Alas, sweet maid, love's potent charm I cannot beg or buy, I cannot wrest it from the wind Or steal it from the sky—"

Breathless, I caught her whisper low, "I love you—why, I do not know!"