WHO calls me bold because I won my love, <br /> And did not pine, <br />And waste my life with secret pain, but strove <br /> To make him mine? <br /> <br />I us’d no arts; ’t was Nature’s self that taught <br /> My eye to speak, <br />And bid the burning blush to paint unsought <br /> My flashing cheek; <br /> <br />That made my voice to tremble when I bid <br /> My love “Goodby,” <br />So weak that every other sound was hid, <br /> Except a sigh. <br /> <br />Oh, was it wrong to use the truth I knew, <br /> That hearts are mov’d, <br />And spring warm-struck with life and love anew, <br /> By being lov’d? <br /> <br />One night there came a tear, that, big and loth, <br /> Stole ’neath my brow. <br />’T was thus I won my heart’s own heart, and both <br /> Are happy now.<br /><br />William Cosmo Monkhouse<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-42/
