I SPEAK not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name, There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame: But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart. Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace Were those hours -- can their joy or their bitterness cease? We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, -- We will part, -- we will fly to -- unite it again! Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt! Forgive me, adored one! -- forsake, if thou wilt; But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased, And man shall not break it -- whatever thou mayst. And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee, This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be; And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet, With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet. One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love, Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or re-prove; And the heartless may wonder at all I resign -- Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE FIRST DAY: THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVY by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW LAMENT by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY ODE ON SOLITUDE (FINAL PRINTED VERSION) by ALEXANDER POPE BELLS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN TO AN ASTRONOMER by ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH BOTTA ASOLANDO: DEVELOPMENT by ROBERT BROWNING |