I TOLD my secret to the sweet wild roses, Heavy with dew, new waking in the morn; And they had breathed it to a thousand others Before another day was slowly born. "Oh, fickle roses," said I, "you shall perish!" So plucked them for my lady sweet to wear In the pure silence of her maiden bosom, The curled luxuriance of her chestnut hair. I told the secret to a bird new building Her nest at peace within the spreading tree; And ere her children had begun to chatter, She told it o'er and o'er right joyously. "Oh, traitor bird," I whispered, "stay thy singing, Thou dost not know, there in thy nest above, That secrets are not made to tell to others, That silence is the birthright of true love." I told the secret to my love, my lady; She held it closely to her darling breast. Then, as I clasped her, came a tiny whisper: "The birds and flowers told me all the rest, Nor shouldst thou chide them that they spake the secret; The whole world is a chord of love divine, And birds and flowers but fulfil their mission In telling secrets sweet as mine and thine." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 2. ILLINOIS by CLARENCE MAJOR THE DEATH OF GRANT by AMBROSE BIERCE THE CRY OF THE HUMAN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ELEGY FOR A DEAD KING by AL-KUTANDI THE GYPSIES [OR, GIPSIES] by HENRY HOWARTH BASHFORD |