LETRILLA

A thousand, thousand times I seek
My lovely maid;
But I am silent, still, afraid
That if I speak
The maid might frown, and then my heart would break.

I've oft resolved to tell her all,
But dare not—what a woe 'twould be
From doubtful favor's smiles to fall
To the harsh frown of certainty.
Her grace—her music cheers me now;
The dimpled roses on her cheek,
But fear restrains my tongue, for how,
How should I speak
When, if she frowned, my troubled heart would break?

No! rather I'll conceal my story
In my full heart's mostm secret cell;
For though I feel a doubtful glory
I 'scape the certainty of hell.
I lose, 'tis true, the bliss of heaven—
I own my courage is but weak;
That weakness may be well forgiven,
For should she speak
In words ungentle, O my heart would break.