When I am near you, love, my darling dear,
What joy ‘t will be at last your voice to hear.
At last, at last, at last, my head will ring
With each loved word spoke loud, or whispering.
To see your lips make speech that’s wholly you—
And holy, too, because it’s pure and true—
Will earthquake me, no doubt, though I be still,
With pleasure-shake of my accepting will.
If I then yearn to kiss all speech away,
I’ll make me wait till you’ve no more to say,
Yet if I see you speak from some shy fright
Straight way I’ll close your lips with my love’s might.
Nor word, nor speech, nor song could be so dear
As murmurs that we feel, yet do not hear.