FROM THE FRENCH OF ANVERS <br />My heart has its secret, my soul its mystery, <br />A love which is eternal begotten in a day. <br />The ill is long past healing. Why should I speak to--day? <br />For none have ears to hear, and, least of all, she. <br />Alas I shall have lived unseen tho' ever near, <br />For ever at her side, for ever too alone. <br />I shall have lived my life unknowing and unknown, <br />Asking naught, daring naught, receiving naught from her. <br />And she, whom Heaven made kind and chaste and fair, <br />Shall go undoubting on, the while upon her way <br />The murmur of my love shall fill the land, <br />Till, reading here perchance severe and unaware <br />These lines so full of her, she shall look up and say <br />``Who was this woman then?'' and shall not understand.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-iii-gods-and-false-gods-lxxii/
