YOU say not that you love me, yet 'tis so. Your mood is such the days in April wear, Driving their last flakes down the ashen air, And yet with all their buds ready to blow; Aye, with full-blossomed stalks in many a row, Purpling the grass beneath the hedges bare. Therefore I wait. As sure as April fair, Grown bolder, knows its boughs bear bloom, not snow; So you, who halt betwixt the old and new, Will know your life's sweet, settled weather come, And marvel how the blessed thing befell -- How love from out the chill of friendship grew. Ah, then no longer, love, will you keep dumb; Caught to my heart you must your secret tell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NAME OF JESUS by JOHN NEWTON BETROTHED ANEW by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN NERVES by ARTHUR WILLIAM SYMONS WHAT THE BIRDS SAID by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE COMING OF HIS FEET by LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN EVENING TRAINS by MARY TRUE AYER |