Page:Maurine and Other Poems (1910).pdf/28

 The noble stuff of which his soul was made. And more and more I felt my heart upreaching Toward the truth, drawn gently by his teaching, As flowers are drawn by sunlight. And there grew A strange, shy something in its depths, I knew At length was love, because it was so sad And yet so sweet, and made my heart so glad, Yet seemed to pain me. Then, for very shame, Lest all should read my secret and its name, I strove to hide it in my breast away, Where God could see it only. But each day It seemed to grow within me, and would rise, Like my own soul, and look forth from my eyes, Defying bonds of silence; and would speak, In its red-lettered language, on my cheek, If but his name was uttered. You were kind, My own Maurine! as you alone could be, So long the sharer of my heart and mind, While yet you saw, in seeming not to see. In all the years we have been friends, my own, And loved as women very rarely do, My heart no sorrow and no joy has known It has not shared at once, in full, with you. And I so longed to speak to you of this, When first I felt its mingled pain and bliss; Yet dared not, lest you, knowing him, should say, In pity for my folly—‘Lack-a-day! You are undone: because no mortal art Can win the love of such a lofty heart.’ And so I waited, silent and in pain, Till I could know I did not love in vain. And now I know, beyond a doubt or fear. Did he not say, ‘If she I hold most dear Slipped from my life, and no least hope were left, My heart would find the years more lonely here Than if I were of wealth, fame, friends, bereft, And sent, an exile, to a foreign land’? Oh, darling, you must love, to understand The joy that thrilled all through me at those words. It was as if a thousand singing birds Within my heart broke forth in notes of praise. I did not look up, but I knew his gaze Was on my face, and that his eyes must see The joy I felt almost transfigured me. He loves me—loves me! so the birds kept singing,