When some belovéd voice, which was to you
Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly,
And silence against which you dare not cry
Aches round you with an anguish dreadly new—
What hope, what help? What music will undo
That silence to your sense? Not friendship’s sigh,
Not reason’s labored proof, not melody
Of viols, nor the dancers footing through;
Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales,
Whose hearts leap upward from the cypress trees