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.