 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
224
II.
SILENT.
I will not speak. For ever from old days
Another voice assails him; shall mine come
To break that perfect music? Make me dumb,
God, who art merciful! and of thy grace
Keep my lips silent. I have heard him praise
Her speech, as sweet as late bird singing home,
And soft as on far shore breaks the pale foam,
Tender as twilight's peace on woodland ways.
Another voice assails him; shall mine come
To break that perfect music? Make me dumb,
God, who art merciful! and of thy grace
Keep my lips silent. I have heard him praise
Her speech, as sweet as late bird singing home,
And soft as on far shore breaks the pale foam,
Tender as twilight's peace on woodland ways.
I serve his pleasure, wait with ears attent;
Indeed, it well befits me to be meek:
His joy is passed, his fortune has been spent,
And I—he found me when he turned to seek,
In place of bliss, some pale and dull content—
I will be faithful, but I will not speak.
Indeed, it well befits me to be meek:
His joy is passed, his fortune has been spent,
And I—he found me when he turned to seek,
In place of bliss, some pale and dull content—
I will be faithful, but I will not speak.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |