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.