Poems (Eytinge)/A secret

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A SECRET.
Shall I tell you why I speak so low
And 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 filled
With 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.

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