My heart is yours to fill or burst,

to break or bury,

or wear as jewelery . . .

which ever you prefer

The Secret

I loved thee, though I told thee not

            Right earlily and long,

Thou wert my joy in every spot,

            My theme in every song

And when I saw a stranger face,

            Where beauty held the claim,

I gave it like a secret grace,

            The being of thy name

And all the charms of face or voice,      

            Which I in others see,

Are but recollected choice

            Of what I felt for thee