You see it not—you know not, that your voice
Hath power in its low mournfulness to shake
Mine inmost soul?—that you but look on me,
With the soft darkness of your earnest eyes,
And bid the world fade from me, and call up
A thousand passionate dreams, which wrap my life
As with a troubled cloud? The very sound
Of your light step hath made my heart o’erflow,
Even unto aching, with the sudden gush
Of its deep tenderness! You know it not?