Poems (Prescott)/The Confession
THE CONFESSION
Through birchen woods the sun let down A crowd of golden rays; On Nature's face there was no frown That fairest of fair days; When my love she said, bending her head, While a blush her cheek did cover, "Through dark days and fair, through hope and despair, I shall love you well, oh, my lover!"
The lark sang from his cloud above, Rapt in an ecstasy; The bird on the bough twittered of love, And the winds did seem to sigh. "Oh, my love," I said, o'er her bended head, While the blush her cheek did cover, "In weal or in woe, only love, we know, Can love's counterpart discover!"
Well, love, like the wind, it comes and goes, And who shall dare complain If the lover's heart, like a summer's rose, Blossom never again? The lark that sang his clouds among In no wise did surpass The heavenly note that died in my throat To the murmur of "Alas!"
Is it not enough that the open rose Takes the sun to its heart,Though every angry gale that blows Tear its frail leaves apart? Is it not enough, is it not enough (Oh, heart, thy sighing smother!), That I'd rather be wronged, love, by thee Than righted by another?