PEACE, my heart's blab, be ever dumb, Sorrows speak loud without a tongue: And, my perplexed thoughts, forbear To breathe yourselves in any ear: 'Tis scarce a true or manly grief, Which gads abroad to find relief. Was ever stomach that lack'd meat Nourish'd by what another eat? Can I bestow it, or will woe Forsake me, when I bid it go? Then I'll believe a wounded breast May heal by shrift, and purchase rest. But if, imparting it, I do Not ease myself, but trouble two, 'Tis better I alone possess My treasure of unhappiness: Engrossing that which is my own No longer than it is unknown. If silence be a kind of death, He kindles grief who gives it breath; But let it rak'd in embers lie, On thine own hearth 'twill quickly die; And spite of fate, that very womb Which carries it, shall prove its tomb. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AT SAGAMORE HILL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS CHARACTERS: SUSANNAH BARBAULD MARISSAL by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD FO'C'S'LE YARNS: 1ST SERIES. SPIES ALTERA; TO THE FUTURE MANX POET by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY LORD KNOWLES: THE GARDENER SPEAKS by THOMAS CAMPION TALE: 6. THE FRANK COURTSHIP by GEORGE CRABBE |