THREE summers have gone since the first time we met, love, <br /> And still 'tis in vain that I ask thee to wed ; <br /> I hear no reply but a gentle " Not yet, love," <br /> With a smile of your lip, and a shake of your head. <br /> Ah ! how oft have I whispered, how oft have I sued thee, <br /> And breathed my soul's question of " When shall it be ?" <br /> You know, dear, how long and how truly I've wooed thee, <br /> So don't tell the world that you're waiting for me. <br /> <br /> I have fashioned a home, where the fairies might dwell, love, <br /> I've planted the myrtle, the rose, and the vine ; <br />But the cottage to me is a mere hermit's cell, love, <br /> And the bloom will be dull till the flowers are thine. <br />I've a ring of bright gold, which I gaze on when lonely, <br /> And sigh with Hope's eloquence, " When will it be ?" <br />There needs but thy " Yes," love--one little word only, <br /> So don't tell the world that you're waiting for me.<br /><br />Eliza Cook<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/don-t-tell-the-world-that-you-re-waiting-for-me/
