Poems (Van Vorst)/The Confession
THE CONFESSION
Oh, when I saw you yesterday I stood Trembling and silent; thus you could not know The vibrant, singing beauty, stealing slow, A sacred fire through my veins and blood. In the poor, songless, unawakened wood Of lute forgotten, who can guess the flow Of hidden harmonies to overthrow The heart and sense if one set free the flood? As the deaf master never hears the tone His genius wakes; so you, who make me sing,And all the pulses of my life control,Know but my silence, whilst for you alone Music and thought and song their concourse ring. Turn, then, and hear the love-song of my soul.