Uncaptured in our silences? And must
We stand like stones, less lyrical than dust
That flowers beneath the benison of rain?
And if I say, “I love you,” can you know,
Save by the urgent beating of my heart,
The flame that tears my baffled lips apart?
Poor symbols, cracked or broken long ago,
What witness can you bear that we have tried
To utter Beauty when our tongues were tied!