I wear a mask of frost upon my face,
While scorching flames consume my heart inside;
I walk in silence through this barren space,
And in the darkest shades, my passions hide.
So near thy hand, yet oceans lie between,
A torture sweet that binds my soul in chains.
I view the Morning in thy gaze serene,
Whilst drinking deep the poison of my pains.
My lips are sealed, though spirit cries aloud,
To speak thy name would bring my world to dust.
I wrap my longing in a woven shroud,
And bury deep this sacred, silent trust.
To love thee thus, is burning in the snow,
A martyr’s fate, unwept and unconfessed.
I watch thee shine, a distant, golden glow,
And hold this hopeless anguish in my breast.
This piece captures the Victorian essence of unrequited affection—a dignified sorrow where the lover accepts their pain as the price for observing beauty. It speaks to the universal human experience of holding a love that can never be spoken.
