I
How shall a maid make answer to a man
Who summons her, by love’s supreme decree,
To open her whole heart, that he may see
The intricate strange ways that love began.
So many streams from that great fountain ran
To feed the river that now rushes free,
So deep the heart, so full of mystery;
How shall a maid make answer to a man?
If I turn back each leaflet of my heart,
And let your eyes scan all the records there,
Of dreams of love that came before I knew,
Though in those dreams you had no place or part,
Yet, know that each emotion was a stair
Which led my ripening womanhood to you.