| Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse. 1912. |
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| Edward Rowland Sill. 1841–1887 |
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| 208. To a Maid Demure |
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| OFTEN when the night is come, | |
| With its quiet group at home, | |
| While they broider, knit, or sew, | |
| Read, or chat in voices low, | |
| Suddenly you lift your eyes | 5 |
| With an earnest look, and wise; | |
| But I cannot read their lore,— | |
| Tell me less, or tell me more. | |
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| Like a picture in a book, | |
| Pure and peaceful is your look, | 10 |
| Quietly you walk your ways; | |
| Steadfast duty fills the days. | |
| Neither tears nor fierce delights, | |
| Feverish days nor tossing nights, | |
| Any troublous dreams confess,— | 15 |
| Tell me more, or tell me less. | |
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| Swift the weeks are on the wing; | |
| Years are brief, and love a thing | |
| Blooming, fading, like a flower; | |
| Wake and seize the little hour. | 20 |
| Give me welcome, or farewell; | |
| Quick! I wait! And who can tell | |
| What to-morrow may befall,— | |
| Love me more, or not at all. | |
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