Roundel

Sara Teasdale

If he could know my songs are all for him,
At silver dawn or in the evening glow,
Would he not smile and think it but a whim,
    If he could know?

Or would his heart rejoice and overflow,
As happy brooks that break their icy rim
When April’s horns along the hillsides blow?

I may not speak till Eros’ torch is dim,
The god is bitter and will have it so;
And yet to-night our fate would seem less grim
    If he could know.

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