Poems (Eytinge)/A secret
A SECRET.
Shall I tell you why I speak so lowAnd tenderly? and bow my head In prayer?Why I am moved to anger slow?And answer not when idle words are said? O care?
Do you wonder that my song is stilled?And feeling rarely finds it's way In word?Do you marvel why mine eyes are filledWith tears,—my voice no longer gay Is heard?
Then come a little closer to me, dear,And I will tell you, if a promise true You give,—I would not have the world to hear,—That, since the moment of my loving you, I live.