and wilt thou have me fashion into speech

the love i bear thee, finding words enough,

and hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,

between our faces, to cast light on each?—

i drop it at thy feet. i cannot teach

my hand to hold my spirits so far off

from myself—me—that i should bring thee proof

in words, of love hid in me out of reach.

nay, let the silence of my womanhood

commend my woman-love to thy belief,—

seeing that i stand unwon, however wooed,

and rend the garment of my life, in brief,

by a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,

lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.