UNSPOKEN.

MY lover comes down the leafy street
     Through tenderly falling rain;
His footsteps near our portal veer,
     Go past—then turn again.

Oh, can it be he is knocking below,

     Or here at my door above!
So gentle and small it sounds in the hall,
     So loud in the ear of love.

But never a word of love has he said,
     And never a word crave I,

For why should one long for the daylight strong
     When the dawn is in the sky?

Oh, a dewy rose garden is the house,
     A garden shut from the sun;
The breath of it sweet floats up as my feet

     Float down to my waiting one. [Page 135]

But if ever a word of love thinks he,
     It falls from his heart still-born;
Who bends to the rose does not haste to close
    His hand around bud and thorn.

The beautiful soul that is in him turns
     His beautiful face agleam;
My own soul flies to feast in his eyes,
     Where the silent love-words teem.

Our talk is of books and of thoughts and moods,
     Of the wild flowers in the rain,

And he leans his cheek when we do not speak
     On his chair where my hand had lain.

Yet never a word of love does he say,
     And never a word crave I;
For the faint green May would wither away

     At the quick touch of July.

And at last—at last, we look our last,
     And the dim day grows more dim;
But his eyes still shine in these eyes of mine,
     And my soul goes forth with him.

For though not a word of love does he say,
     Still never a word crave I;
For the words of earth are little worth
     When a song drops out of the sky. [Page 136]