I Whispered to the Bobolink

I WHISPERED to the bobolink:

“Sweet singer of the field,

Teach me a song to reach a heart

In maiden armor steeled.”

“If there be such a song,” sang he,

“No bird can tell its mystery.”

I bent above the sweetest rose,

A deeper sweet to stir —

“O Rose,” I begged, “what charm will wake

The deep, sweet heart of her?”

“Alas, poor lover,” sighed the rose,

“The charm you seek no flower knows.”

I wandered by the midnight lake

Where heaven lay confessed

“Tell me,” I cried, “what draws the stars

To lie upon your breast?”

The silence woke to soft reply

“When Heaven stoops — demand not why!”

“Alas, sweet maid, love's potent charm

I cannot beg or buy,

I cannot wrest it from the wind

Or steal it from the sky —”

Breathless, I caught her whisper low,

“I love you — why, I do not know!”