by Luis G. Dato
If but the wind could be love’s embassy,
How changed so soon would be my melancholy,
Then would I with importuned instancy,
Tell of my grief of heart who loved you solely:
Then would the wind bear of my heart’s great grief,
With silence nourished till the tears brought bane,
For I would make the wind a bidden thief.
Steal from my lips the soul’s unsung refrain.
But the wind is no guileless messenger,
To bear me this the speechless pain of love,
Alone the pain unuttered brings me care,
Which all increases with the day’s remove,
The wind comes laden with February’s flowers,
But will not speak to you of youth’s lost hours.