Roundel

If he could know my songs are all for him,

At silver dawn or in the evening glow,

Would he not smile and think it but a whim,

If he could know?

Or would his heart rejoice and overflow,

As happy brooks that break their icy rim When April's horns along the hillsides blow?

I may not speak till Eros' torch is dim,

The god is bitter and will have it so;

And yet to-night our fate would seem less grim If he could know.