Unvoic-ed songs that always die
On the strings of the harp that gives them birth,
The flutter of hope, a breath, a sigh,
The song nor asks nor gives a why--
The poet's song he deems most worth.
* * * * *
The silent music of the heart is sweet
To listen to. The slow and measured beat
Of the imprisoned soul that finds a voice
In melodious sound oft may rejoice
Us much; but that which sometimes plays on strings
Too fine to sympathize with words e'er sings
The sweetest melodies, though never heard
Except by ear of him whose soul is stirred.