When April bends above me
And finds me fast asleep,
Dust need not keep the secret
A live heart died to keep.
When April tells the thrushes,
The meadow-larks will know,
And pipe the three words lightly
To all the winds that blow.
Above his roof the swallows,
In notes like far-blown rain,
Will tell the little sparrow
Beside his window-pane.
O sparrow, little sparrow,
When I am fast asleep,
Then tell my love the secret
That I have died to keep.
by Sara Teasdale
Touchy, simple, the ever ‘tension’ in love between telling and keep secret that so natural, so powerful, so complex feeling.
Comment by Luís — May 16, 2008 @ 1:08 pm
datz a gud 1
Comment by smurf — May 29, 2008 @ 3:18 pm