Don't Tell the World that You're Waiting for Me by Eliza Cook
THREE summers have gone since the first time we met, love, And still 'tis in vain that I ask thee to wed ; I hear no reply but a gentle " Not yet, love," With a smile of your lip, and a shake of your head. Ah ! how oft have I whispered, how oft have I sued thee, And breathed my soul's question of " When shall it be ?" You know, dear, how long and how truly I've wooed thee, So don't tell the world that you're waiting for me.
I have fashioned a home, where the fairies might dwell, love, I've planted the myrtle, the rose, and the vine ; But the cottage to me is a mere hermit's cell, love, And the bloom will be dull till the flowers are thine. I've a ring of bright gold, which I gaze on when lonely, And sigh with Hope's eloquence, " When will it be ?" There needs but thy " Yes," love--one little word only, So don't tell the world that you're waiting for me.