Wild words I write, and lettered in deep pain, <br />To lay in your loved hand as love's farewell. <br />It is the thought we shall not meet again <br />Nerves me to write and my whole secret tell. <br />For when I speak to you, you only jest, <br />And laughing break the sentence with a kiss, <br />Till my poor love is never quite confessed, <br />Nor know you half its tears and tenderness. <br />When the first darkness and the clouds began <br />I hid it from you fearing your reproof; <br />I would not vex your life's high aim and plan <br />With my poor woman's woe, and held aloof. <br />But now that all is ended, pride and shame, <br />My tumults and my joys I may proclaim.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-woman-s-sonnets-xi/
