Song From The Spanish Of Iglesias

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Alexis calls me cruel;
  The rifted crags that hold
The gathered ice of winter,
  He says, are not more cold.

When even the very blossoms
  Around the fountain's brim,
And forest walks, can witness
  The love I bear to him.

I would that I could utter
  My feelings without shame;
And tell him how I love him,
  Nor wrong my virgin fame.

Alas! to seize the moment
  When heart inclines to heart,
And press a suit with passion,
  Is not a woman's part.

If man comes not to gather
  The roses where they stand,
They fade among their foliage;
  They cannot seek his hand.

© William Cullen Bryant