by William Blake
Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move
I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart;
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears,
Ah! she did depart!
Soon as she was gone from me,
A traveller came by,
He took her with a sigh.
dear mr. blake,
thank you for your advice. i have felt your fear, i must say, trembling and cold. but i do have something to ask, though. or an intervention, if you please.
what of love that is being, never told? or love that has been half-told? what of love that has been told and misconstrued?
what of me, now that i have told my love? would there be a departure? would i have to be shrouded in this traveller's garb if i have to take someone with a sigh, silently, invisibly.