I IF I go amid the ferns' long silence Where the sun comes quivering through; If I go where the wave croons lowly And the depths of the pools show blue; If I go where the creek's old boulders By the lapping of the tides are pressed, There's a little unforgettable lady With roses against her breast. If I stand by the willows on the river, In the dusk where the shy boats go, I hear in the music and the shadow A voice speak beautifully low. If I go through the paddocks in the morning, Through the frost and the sharp, bright air, There's a little unforgettable lady Always before me there. If I go by the creek along the gully, Or climb to the hollow on the hill, If I sleep near the whispering beeches Her laughter is with me still. She has taken all my olden freedom And never lets me stir at all, This little unforgettable lady That has my heart in thrall. II There's a whitethorn, there's a bee, How the sunlight floods them round! The warm wind plunges at the tree The gold showers on the ground. The little trout slide in the spray, The lizard glistens near its stone, And, though she turns her face away Yet I am not alone: Can I not love what things I see If my dear lady loves not me? She is so like a timid fawn Afraid of hands that would caress; What is most sweet is most withdrawn And where's my happiness? There's a wagtail, there's a bee; Bunnies in the bracken play; Whoever shakes the almond tree Is drowned in petal spray. So I must love what things I see If my dear lady loves not me. III Ask thou, oh! ask Winds weary of their task Who in green branches rest From wanderings east and west -- Their murmurs will unmask My love confessed. My words are feathers blown From unknown to unknown; Wilt thou not hearken while I plead My helpless need? Ask thou the rose Who doth her petals close With velvet fold on fold Upon my secret told; Her silent beauty knows What lips withhold. My heart's a homeless bird That sings his song unheard; Wilt thou not hearken while I plead My helpless need? Ask thou the night Who spills his stars so white Deep in the cushioned blue For he has heard me through And knows my soul's delight Is wrapped in you. My heart is a plunging wave Ocean its mother and grave; Wilt thou not hearken while I plead My helpless need? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THOUGHTS OF A TINY PIG by DAVID IGNATOW RETROSPECTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE DAY OF THE DEAD SOLDIERS; MARY 30, 1869 by EMMA LAZARUS THE COTTON CLUB by CLARENCE MAJOR SORROWING LOVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD |