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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - A Woman’s Sonnets: XI
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Wild words I write, and lettered in deep pain,
 To lay in your loved hand as love`s farewell.
 It is the thought we shall not meet again
 Nerves me to write and my whole secret tell.
 For when I speak to you, you only jest,
 And laughing break the sentence with a kiss,
 Till my poor love is never quite confessed,
 Nor know you half its tears and tenderness.
 When the first darkness and the clouds began
 I hid it from you fearing your reproof;
 I would not vex your life`s high aim and plan
 With my poor woman`s woe, and held aloof.
 But now that all is ended, pride and shame,
 My tumults and my joys I may proclaim.
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