And silence against which you dare not cry,
Aches round you like a strong disease and new—
What hope, what help, what music will undo
That silence to your sense.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Ours is a world of words; Quiet we call
“Silence,” which is the merest word of all.
All nature speaks, and ev’n ideal things
Flap shadowy sounds from visionary wings—
But ah! not so when, thus in realms on high,