O love, my love, thou 'rt in the passing crowd, But none shall see thee save the eyes that burn; O love, my love, thou singest long and loud, But none shall hear thee save the ears that yearn. O love, my love, thou 'rt in the solitude Of foam-crest oceans and the tangled wood, But none shall know thee in thy changing mood, Save minds deep-nurtured in the heart's dark flood. O love, my love, thou 'rt in the blue-girt sky, And bound in murmurs of the sighing breeze, But none shall feel thy lilting melody, Save hearts that quaff thy spirits-passioned lees. O love, thou wert a beggar shouldst thou hold Thy blood-warm spirit to hearts bitter cold. |