WHO calls me bold because I won my love, 
 And did not pine, 
And waste my life with secret pain, but strove 
 To make him mine? 
 
I us?d no arts; ?t was Nature?s self that taught 
 My eye to speak, 
And bid the burning blush to paint unsought 
 My flashing cheek; 
 
That made my voice to tremble when I bid 
 My love ?Goodby,?
So weak that every other sound was hid, 
 Except a sigh. 
 
Oh, was it wrong to use the truth I knew, 
 That hearts are mov?d, 
And spring warm-struck with life and love anew,
 By being lov?d? 
 
One night there came a tear, that, big and loth, 
 Stole ?neath my brow. 
?T was thus I won my heart?s own heart, and both 
 Are happy now.