Song

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

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"Song" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 20 Aug. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/39766/song>.

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