Even if I died no sound should tell it her. <br />Death babbles, but the calm of her dear eyes <br />In vain would ask, no tell--tale breath should stir <br />The lips still treasuring a thought unwise. <br />How vain my life has been in its disguise, <br />Left unregarded, her least pensioner, <br />Yielding to all, unasking even with sighs <br />The dole of hope not Heaven could quite confer. <br />--To--day behold me on this page her name <br />Over my own inscribing, with no prayer, <br />Nor daring even to kneel in my distress. <br />What I have written in this candle's flame <br />Shrinks ere 'tis finished, and the incensed air <br />Bears but betrays it not. She shall not guess.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/she-shall-not-guess/
