Shapes of Clay

by Ambrose Bierce

TO ONE ACROSS THE WAY

TO ONE ACROSS THE WAY.

When at your window radiant you've stood
I've sometimes thought--forgive me if I've erred--
That some slight thought of me perhaps has stirred
Your heart to beat less gently than it should.
I know you beautiful; that you are good
I hope--or fear--I cannot choose the word,
Nor rightly suit it to the thought. I've heard
Reason at love's dictation never could.
Blindly to this dilemma so I grope,
As one whose every pathway has a snare:
If you are minded in the saintly fashion
Of your pure face my passion's without hope;
If not, alas! I equally despair,
For what to me were hope without the passion?