A Lover’s Threat

Could I but speak to her; ah me!

     ‘Twould lift the veil of doubt;

Each day her matchless face I see,

     Her sometimes saucy pout.

And I must wait, not far away,

     Beneath her peerless eyes,

Watching them play from grave to gay,

     And murmur not but sigh.

Could I but speak to her! The days

     Draw on, no word is passed

She holdeth still her charming ways,

     My lips are mute and fast.

But ah! Someday this shall not be,

     I cannot long demur;

She must give in, and speak to me,

     Or I shall speak to her!

March 29, 1896