If untrue, the loudest shouts are whispers;
And truth, if whispered, echoes through a soul.
So if my words, my love, are but soft purrs
Judge not the sincerity I bestow
Against the witness of the overheard.
They, of themselves, a spectacle create
And insolent their hearts become absurd
As prattle on they more vapid placate
And do injustice to the art of words.
Love, so delicate, is best never named
But to radiate from the eyes, unheard,
And fades as soon as it is boasting claimed.
So, my love, just listen for my whispers
And when I smile know it's where they were.
