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James Russell Lowell - Telepathy
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`And how could you dream of meeting?`
  Nay, how can you ask me, sweet?
All day my pulse had been beating
  The tune of your coming feet.

And as nearer and ever nearer
  I felt the throb of your tread,
To be in the world grew clearer,
  And my blood ran rosier red.

Love called, and I could not linger,
  But sought the forbidden tryst,
As music follows the finger
  Of the dreaming lutanist

And though you had said it and said it,
  `We must not be happy to-day,`
Was I not wiser to credit
  The fire in my feet than your Nay?
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