Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.

Cosmo Monkhouse b. 1840


WHO calls me bold because I won my love,

And did not pine,

And waste my life with secret pain, but strove

To make him mine?

I us’d no arts; ’t was Nature’s self that taught

My eye to speak,

And bid the burning blush to paint unsought

My flashing cheek;

That made my voice to tremble when I bid

My love “Goodby,”

So weak that every other sound was hid,

Except a sigh.

Oh, was it wrong to use the truth I knew,

That hearts are mov’d,

And spring warm-struck with life and love anew,

By being lov’d?

One night there came a tear, that, big and loth,

Stole ’neath my brow.

’T was thus I won my heart’s own heart, and both

Are happy now.