Hast thou no voice, no truthful voice,
To tell of buried thought?
Still silent—but thy rustling leaves
Whisper in spirit-tone,
“Wouldst learn the tale of other hearts,
Look, then, into thine own.
“Think of the warm, bright hopes that sprung
Within thy youthful breast,
Oh think what pangs thy heart have wrung
For dear ones laid at rest.