CONFESSION
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.
II
Nay, I was not insensate till you came;
I know man likes to think a woman clay,
Devoid of feeling till the warming ray
Sent from his heart lights her with sudden flame.
You asked for truth; I answer without shame;
My human heart pulsed blood by night and day,
And I believed that Love had come my way
Before he conquered with your face and name.
I do not know when first I felt this fire
That lends such lustre to my hopes and fears,
And burns a pathway to you with each thought.
I think in that great hour when God’s desire
For worlds to love flung forth a million spheres,
This miracle of love in me was wrought.
An open door, a moonlit sky,
A child-like maid with musing eye,
A manly footstep passing by.
Light as a dewdrop falls from space
Upon a rosebud’s folded grace,
A kiss fell on her girlish face.
“Good-night, good-bye,” and he was gone.
And so was childhood; it was dawn
In that young heart the moon shone on.