I wear a mask of marble, cold and still,
While secret fires consume my silent heart;
I bend my spirit to a tyrant will,
And play the friend, a poor and painful part.
Thou walkest near, unaware of the storm,
Thy laughter rings like bells upon the air;
I dare not let my worship take a form,
Nor speak the love that dwells in my despair.
Like lava flows beneath the winter snow,
My longing burns beneath a guise of ice;
I fear one day the hidden truth might show,
And cost my soul this fragile paradise.
So in the shadows must I make my home,
And tend the garden of a love unseen;
Destined in silence evermore to roam,
Worshipping solely what might once have been.
This verse captures the exquisite agony of the Victorian soul—the burden of affection that must remain unvoiced for the sake of propriety or circumstance. It speaks to the universal experience of holding a burning affection within a vessel of silence, suggesting that the most profound love stories are often those that are never told.
