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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - Not A Word
Work rating: Low

Love, my heart is faint with waiting,
 Faint with hope and joy deferred,
 All night long at this sad grating,
 Sleepless like a prisoned bird,
 Singing low,
 Singing slow:
 Come, ah come, love.--Not a word!

 Love, in vain for thee this token
 Did I tie, poor silken cord,
 To my window. See, `tis broken
 And the strands fly heavenward.
 All are free,
 All but me.
 Come, ah come, love.--Not a word!

 Lo, the first sad streak of morning
 Cleaves the heaven like a sword.
 Love, too late I hear the warning,
 Of thy footstep on the sward.
 Yet, ah yet,
 Though `tis late,
 Come; but mind, love, not a word!
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