AH ! leave my soul like forest pool
In shadow smiling unafraid—
Let not thy laughter stir its cool
Clear depths, sweet maid,
Let not, I pray, thy sunlike hair
Pierce to the thoughts that slumber there !
My soul is still as summer noon—
Its inmost shrines are full of sleep ;
But when the stars of dreamland swoon
‘Twill wake and weep ;
The dawn of Love that brings thy blue
Bright eyes, will bring a sorrow too !
My soul is silent—trouble not
Its secret reveries with thy songs.
The rare red tint thy lips have got !
The whole world longs
To kiss them—therefore speak not, dear ;
My soul must struggle, should it hear.
* * * * *
I see thee, and my soul is swung
In golden trances of delight ;
I hear thee, and my tremulous tongue
Hurls forth a flight
Of bird-like songs, saluting thee.
Oh, come and dwell and dream with me.
Custance, Olive. “A Madrigal.” The Yellow Book, vol. 6, July 1895, pp. 215-216. Yellow Book Digital Edition, edited by Dennis Denisoff and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2010-2014. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Ryerson University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2020. https://1890s.ca/YBV6_custance_madrigal/