Birds sing "I love you, love" the whole day through, <br />And not another song can they sing right; <br />But, singing done with, loving's done with quite, <br />The autumn sunders every twittering two. <br />And I'd not have love make too much ado <br />With sweet parades of fondness and delight, <br />Lest iterant wont should make caresses trite, <br />Love-names mere cuckoo ousters of the true. <br /> <br />Oh heart can hear heart's sense in senseless nought, <br />And heart that's sure of heart has little speech. <br />What shall it tell? The other knows its thought. <br />What shall one doubt or question or beseech <br />Who is assured and knows and, unbesought, <br />Possesses the dear trust that each gives each.<br /><br />Augusta Davies Webster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/birds-sing-i-love-you-love/
