XXWITHOUT A WORD
In the light keeping of the air,
Trembles a secret all things tell;
The very wind that lifts your hair
In lands of heat hath learned it well,
Whispers it soft against your cheek,
Breathes it in passion-laden sigh,
So warm, so nigh,
It has no need a word to speak.
Trembles a secret all things tell;
The very wind that lifts your hair
In lands of heat hath learned it well,
Whispers it soft against your cheek,
Breathes it in passion-laden sigh,
So warm, so nigh,
It has no need a word to speak.
With fluttering hearts the birds outpour
The open secret all day long;
Now they confess and now implore,
In the strange mystery of song,
Which seems to utter everything,
Yet leaves the sweetest things inferred,
Without a word.
O birds! no wonder that you sing!
The open secret all day long;
Now they confess and now implore,
In the strange mystery of song,
Which seems to utter everything,
Yet leaves the sweetest things inferred,
Without a word.
O birds! no wonder that you sing!
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