William Blake. (№ 281993)

The word can't be expressed
All the love to the beloved.
The wind is moving, sliding,
Quiet and invisible.
I said, I said,
What lurked in the soul.
Oh, my love in tears
In fear withdrew.
A moment later
The traveler marching past,
Softly, softly, jokingly
Took possession of the beloved.
Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly
I told my love i told my love,
I told her all my heart;
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears,
Ah! she doth depart.
Soon as she was gone from me,
A traveller came by,
Silently, invisibly:
He took her with a sigh.