I THINK perhaps my heart would be less sore If I need not look on lovers any more; If Winter only lasted all the year, And one could sit alone in thoughtless peace Beside the chimney-place, and only hear The wind-voice in the open sing and cease, And gaze toward the frosted pane to know That all beyond was loneliness and snow. But O, the Springtime when the birds are rife And all our little village wakes to life, And everywhere Spring bids them come again, As it does roses -- all the lovers new; The stalwart lads who bear themselves like men, The wistful little maids, half women too. I wish it were not mine to watch them meet And note the lingering hands, the halting feet. I wish I might not guess what words they say, Nor what her eyes mean as she turns away. I wish I did not know how all day long, Busied about her little household cares, Her thoughts are music and her heart a song -- A harmony of all Love dreams and dares. I wish I might not think, when day grows late, How she will lean and listen at the gate. God knows I would not have their happiness A lesser thing or strive to make it less; Only I wish it were not mine to dwell So close without the gates of Paradise; Only I wish I did not know so well The tenderness that springs in meeting eyes. I think perhaps my heart would be less sore, If I need not look on lovers any more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OF THE DAY ESTIVALL by ALEXANDER HUME GOOD LUCK by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE HARVEST by EVA K. ANGLESBURG |