XXI br br Say over again, and yet once over again, br That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated br Should seem 'a cuckoo-song,' as thou dost treat it, br Remember, never to the hill or plain, br Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain br Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed. br Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted br By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain br Cry, 'Speak once more—thou lovest! 'Who can fear br Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll, br Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year? br Say thou dost love me, love me, love me—toll br The silver iterance!—only minding, Dear, br To love me also in silence with thy soul.