I watch thee move in light, all unaware,
Of storms that rage beneath my quiet guise;
Thou dost not see the weight of love I bear,
Nor catch the yearning hidden in my eyes.
A fever dwells within this breast of stone,
A secret fire that sears my weary soul;
While I remain a shadow, mute and lone,
Thy gentle glance keeps all my senses whole.
I fear to speak, lest rejection be my fate,
And turn my golden summer into frost;
Yet silence is a burden far too great,
Wherein all hope of paradise is lost.
So let me cast the shield of fear aside,
And lay my trembling heart before thy feet;
No longer shall this burning passion hide,
But in thy grace, its destiny shall meet.
To love in silence is a noble suffering, yet the true art of romance lies in the vulnerability of confession. This piece captures the timeless Victorian struggle between propriety and the overwhelming force of passion.
