To Speak To Her

Could I but speak to her; ah, me!

     ‘Twould lift the clouds of doubt;

Each day her peerless face I see, –

     Her sometimes saucy pout,

And I must sit, not far away

     And watch her changeful eyes;

The beams that o’er her features play,

     And murmur naught but sighs.

Could I but speak to her! The days

     Drag on, no word is passed;

She holdeth still her charming ways, –

     My lips are mute and fast.

But, ah! Some day this cloud must fall,

     Knowing, I’ll not demur;

Some day I’ll scale this armored wall,

     Some day I’ll speak to her!

March 18, ‘94