- 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.
- Belovëd, 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.