Xxi

Say over again, and yet once over again, That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated Should seem ' a cuckoo-song,' as thou dost treat it, Remember, never to the hill or plain, Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed. Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain Cry, ' Speak once more--thou lovest ! ' Who can fear Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll, Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year ? Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll The silver iterance !--only minding, Dear, To love me also in silence with thy soul.