We never breathed of lore a word.
⁠Yet we were both aware
Of the deep passion newly stirred
⁠Which neither might declare.

We talked of things indifferent,
⁠And none our thoughts might guess,
Though love to every accent lent
⁠A tone of tenderness.

Swift telegraphic messages
⁠Flashed forth from eye to eye:
"I love, but must my love suppress"—
⁠"O cruel destiny."

"Ah! had we only met before.
⁠When we to love were free!"
"Wretched we must be evermore,
⁠None so forlorn as we!"

"Our secret love our eyes alone,
⁠And not our lips may tell."
"No need of words for what is known
⁠To both of us so well."