E. E. ST. L. HILL
DIFFIDENCE
Dulled is the azure of the skies.
Can aught but woe my woes beget?
My inmost self in anguish cries
"I love my Love"—My Love!—and yet
I cannot as a lover say
"I love my Love," because I know
I am not worthy. Still I may
Win in the end the right to show