Poems (Bushnell)/In Disguise

by Frances Louisa Bushnell

XXI IN DISGUISE

Your face possessed me while we talked;
 It seemed the picture of a heart
In whose fair garden Sorrow walked,
 While Joy, poor errant, stood apart,
  A suppliant at the gate.

You do not dream that she is near,
 So still she waiteth and so shy.
You are not thinking of her, dear;
 Almost you have forgot to sigh
  She comes no more of late.

I know, I know, she longs to come,
 And lift the latch with quick surprise;
And yet she standeth strange and dumb,
 And looks, behind that still disguise,
  As one you never knew.

But if she came with smile and dance,
 With banners flying, music gay,
Oh, would you run with answering glance,
 Or only turn your head away
  From what was not for you?

I understand; you need not speak:
 The heart that is for Sorrow strong,
For Joy too joyful were too weak;
 She must not come with dance and song,
  But lightly as a dove.

'Tis thus she comes, and makes no claim;
 She whispers soft, she kneeleth low,
And wears the while a gentler name.
 Oh, hear me breathe it! Must she go?
  The name she wears is Love.