Love

Whatever I may try to say to you
However loud I shout or broad I write
(Though I should paint the sky with stars at night
Or echo all the highest mountains through)
It doesn't really matter what I do
Until your own soul whispers it is right
However quietly: your own delight
Is all that can convince you what is true.
I can encourage you, of course, or nag;
Pray to your understanding like a god;
Try every trick that ever has been sprung--
But what you think will only cease to lag
Behind my hopes when you yourself can laud
The tune and lyrics you yourself have sung.