WE sigh not, and the eye's not moisten'd, We laugh at times, we often smile; In not a look, in not a gesture The secret comes to light the while. Deep in our bleeding spirit hidden, It lies in silent misery; If in our wild heart it finds language, The mouth's still closed convulsively. Ask of the suckling in the cradle, Ask of the dead man in the grave; They may perchance disclose the secret To which I never utt'rance gave. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE MEMORY OF MR. OLDHAM by JOHN DRYDEN I DID THIS FOR THEE! WHAT HAST THOU DONE FOR ME? by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 100 by OMAR KHAYYAM CIRCUMSTANCE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE PAVANE by DORIS ELLEN BIESTERFELD THE OLD HOUSE by LAURENCE BINYON HOLLY BERRY AND MISTLETOE by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE |