Of love that's never mine,
except in dreams?
Why are my good intentions always slighted?
There must be something wrong,
or so it seems.
I wish that you,
at whom these outbursts are directed,
Might see right through this aching frame,
straight to the heart,
And see the love that lies there undetected,
Always hidden,
kept a secret from the start.
And yet I hesitate to show my true emotion,
In mortal fear lest it may frighten you away,
And so my coward heart remains in sad commotion,
I live in reqequited love another day.