The Secret

By Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

IF I should tell you what I know

Of where the first primroses grow,

Betray the secrets of the lily,

Bring crocus-gold and daffodilly,

Would you tell me if charm there be

To win a maiden, willy-nilly?

I lie upon the fragrant heath,

Kin to the beating heart beneath;

The nesting plover I discover

Nor stir the scented screen above her,

Yet am I blind — I cannot find

What turns a maiden to her lover!

Through all the mysteries of May,

Initiate, I take my way —

Sure as the blithest lark or linnet

To touch the pulsing soul within it —

Yet with no art to reach Her heart,

Nor skill to teach me how to win it!