Richard Watson Gilder

The New Day. Part 3. 10. Love's Monotone

Thou art so used, Love, to thine own bird's song,—
⁠     Sung to thine ear in love's low monotone,
⁠     Sung to thee only, Love, to thee alone
⁠     Of all the listening world,—that I among
My doubts find this the leader of the throng:
     ⁠Haply the music hath accustomed grown
     ⁠And no more music is to thee; my own
⁠     Too faithful argument works its own wrong.
Love, Love, and must I learn for thy sweet sake
⁠     The art of silence?—Ah, then hide the light
⁠     Of thy dear countenance, lest the music wake!
Yet should thy bird at last fall silent quite,
⁠     Would not thy heart an unused sorrow take?
⁠     Think not of me but of thyself to-night.