The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (6.1895)

A Madrigal

By Olive Custance

h ! leave my soul like forest pool


n In shadow smiling unafraid—
Let not thy laughter stir its cool
Clear depths, sweet maid,
Let not, I pray, thy sunlike hair
Pierce to the thoughts that slumber there
My soul is still as summer noon—
Its inmost shrines are full of sleep ;
But when the stars of dreamland swoon
’Twill wake and weep ;
The dawn of Love that brings thy blue
Bright eyes, will bring a sorrow too !
My soul is silent—trouble not
Its secret reveries with thy songs.
The rare red tint thy lips have got !
The whole world longs
To kiss them—therefore speak not, dear ;
My soul must struggle, should it hear.