A Maiden's Secret

I have written this day down in my heart

  As the sweetest day in the season;

From all of the others I've set it apart—-

  But I will not tell you the reason,

That is my secret—-I must not tell;

  But the skies are soft and tender,

And never before, I know full well,

  Was the earth so full of splendour.

I sing at my labour the whole day long,

  And my heart is as light as a feather;

And there is a reason for my glad song

  Besides the beautiful weather.

But I will not tell it to you; and though

  That thrush in the maple heard it,

And would shout it aloud if he could, I know

  He hasn't the power to word it.

Up, where I was sewing, this morn came one

  Who told me the sweetest stories,

He said I had stolen my hair from the sun,

  And my eyes from the morning glories.

Grandmother says that I must not believe

  A word men say, for they flatter;

But I'm sure he would never try to deceive,

  For he told me—-but there—-no matter!

Last night I was sad, and the world to me

  Seemed a lonely and dreary dwelling,

But some one then had not asked me to be—-

  There now! I am almost telling.

Not another word shall my two lips say,

  I will shut them fast together,

And never a mortal shall know to-day

  Why my heart is as light as a feather.