Love’s Secret

Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move,
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in heart did ache
Then she turned away to part.

My own love, my own love,
My joy I must not sing;
But it loves a whisper lightly,
My heart to a trodden spring.

• William Blake