So Quiet a Thing.
I had not dreamed
Love was so quiet a thing.
Peaceful as fields
At summer eventide—
Fragrant and still
With little gleams of light
Along the happy grass;
With trees asleep,
And hills like dreams of faery,
Where silver rivers run.
I had not dreamed
I should not know
Love's coming.
My love, in dreams, was winged.
All passion gleamed
In his fine face.
I thought
“Ah! When we meet
Love's passion will possess my soul—
Will rise and sweep me from my feet!”
I had not dreamed
That love could catch me unawares,
And cover me with rest.
I had not dreamed
Love could be you,
And I be glad
That it was so!
Love's passion lost,
Its splendour and its mad unrest
All dreams of youth!
Love, merged in you,
A stillness—an abiding peace,
Forever more.
Beloved! I think that, after all,
Your love will do!

—E. Mary Gurney.

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