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. Beloved, 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.
