Richard Watson Gilder

The New Day. Part 3. 12. Denial

When some new thought of love in me is born,
⁠     Then swift I seek a token fair and meet
⁠     That may unblamed thy blessèd vision greet;
⁠     Whether it be a rose, not bloodless torn
From that June tree which hideth many a thorn,
⁠     Or but a simple, loving message, sweet
⁠     With summer's heart and mine,—these at thy feet
⁠     I straightway fling; but all with maiden scorn
Thou spurnest. What to thee is token or sign,
⁠     Who dost deny the thing wherefor it stands!
     ⁠Then I seem foolish in my sight and thine,
Like one who eager proffers empty hands.
⁠     Thou only callest these my gifts unfine,
     ⁠While men are praising them in distant lands.