The call note of a hidden bird
Even sweeter than the lark.
Yet 'twas their silence breathed only this—
'I love you.' As if flowers might say,
'Such is our natural fragrantness;'
Or dewdrop at the break of day
Cry 'Thus I beam.' Each turned a head,
And each its own clear radiance shed
With joy and peace at play.
So in a gloomy London street