Song

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.