I might have whispered of my love that night,
But something wrapped you as a shield around,
And held me back: your quiver of affright,
Your startled movement at some sudden sound—
A night-bird rustling on the leafy ground—
Your hushed and tremulous whisper of alarm,
Your beating heart pressed close against my arm,—
All, all were sweet; and yet _my_ heart beat true,
Nor shrined one wish I might not breathe to you.
So when we parted little had been said: