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John Oxenham

John Oxenham

The Word That Was Left Unsaid

   “A red rose for my helmet,
   And a word before we part!
   The rose shall be my oriflamme
   The word shall fill my heart.”
   Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart—
   Just a look, just a word and a look!
   A look or a sign that my love shall divine
   And a word for my hungering heart!
 
   She toyed with his love and her roses;
   Was it mischief or mischance?—
   She dropped him a rose—'twas a white one,
   And he lifted it on his lance.
   Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart!
   Is it thus—is it thus we part?
   With never a look, and never a sign,
   Nor a word for my hungering heart!
 
   She sought him among the dying,
   She found him among the dead;
   And the rose was still in his helmet.
   But his life had stained it red.
   Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart!
   Now my heart within me is dead.
   And alack for the look!
   And alas for the sign!
   And the word that was left unsaid!

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