IX
Should I tell Thee the secret tale
As nightingale in the oak forest—
Or should I weep in bitter tears
What sways my heart and gives it no rest?
Or, kneeling down, with ardent words
Should I in prayer spell my passion—
Or in a fair and tranquil night
Out of my dream breathe my confession?
Or should the hidden paradise
Sleep in my heart’s depth, never uttered,
Like in a grave, and far from Thee
My love in secret be but muttered?
O angel mine, I do confess
My love for mankind, never dying;
But toward Thee—O, don’t chide me,
That my mind’s weak and undefying!