WHO will, before the break of day, To him my soul adores repair; Because for love I pine away, The secret of my flame to bear. O Heart! to what safe heart and true Can'st trust thy message to be borne? For if the lark my secret knew, She'd go and tell it to the morn. Longing, with its consuming dart, To pierce my breaking heart, I feel; If to the wave I tell my smart, The wave will to the wind reveal. Thrills icy cold my breast assail, And freeze my lips that cannot close; If I should tell the nightingale, He'll go and tell it to the rose. Who then will find my love, and pray My mortal anguish to remove? What to the wood-pigeon I say, He'll go and tell it to the dove. My beauty leaves me as a dream, I bend and shiver as the reed; But if I own it to the stream, He'll go and tell it to the mead. Waves, birds, and winds, and hills! Alas! All ye who witness my despair; If I should tell it to my glass, 'Twould to my friends the truth declare. All ye who see me fade and waste, Because I pine 'neath love's control, Fly hence, and to the dwelling haste Of him, the idol of my soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: 'EQUALITY OF SACRIFICE' by RUDYARD KIPLING THE WEST WIND by JOHN MASEFIELD AN ARAB WELCOME by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A SONG OF PROGRESS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON LETTER TO B.W. PROCTOR, ESQ., FROM OXFORD; MAY, 1825 by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES ALFRED TENNYSON by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT KITTY OF THE SHERRAGH VANE by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN TEN YEARS HAVE PASSED; ON VIEWING WAR GRAVES AT VERDUN, 1928 by DON MAITLAND BUSHBY |