The House of the Trees
& Other Poems


by Ethelwyn Wetherald



 

Unspoken



MY lover comes down the long leafy street
    Through tenderly falling rain;
His footsteps near our portal veer,
    Go past—then turn again.

O can it be he is knocking below,
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    Or here at my door above?
So gentle and small it sounds in the hall,
    So loud in the ear of love.

But never a word of love he has said,
    And never a word crave I,
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For why should one long for the daylight strong
    When the dawn is in the sky?

O a dewy rose-garden is the house,
    A garden shut from the sun;
The breath of it sweet floats up, as my feet
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    Float down to my waiting one.

But if ever a word of love thinks he,
    It falls from his heart still-born; [Page 80]
Who bends to the rose does not haste to close
    His hand around bud and thorn.
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The beautiful soul that is in him turns
    His beautiful face a gleam;
My own soul flies to feast in his eyes,
    Where the silent love-words teem.

Our talk is of books, and of thoughts and moods,
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    Of the wild flowers in the rain;
And he leans his cheek, when we do not speak,
    On his chair where my hand had lain.

Yet never a word of love does he say,
    And never a word crave I;
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For the faint green May would wither away
    At the quick touch of July.

And at last—at last we look our last,
    And the dim day grows more dim;
But his eyes still shine in these eyes of mine,
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    And my soul goes forth with him. [Page 81]

For though not a word of love does he say,
    Still never a word crave I;
For the words of earth are of little worth
    When a song drops out of the sky. [Page 82]
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