THE LANGUAGE OF SILENCE.
There's a silence that speaks in the deeply dark eye;
'Tis a soul-breathing eloquence lent from on high,
To picture those feelings, to language forbid,
As it droopingly bends 'neath the shadowy lid.
'Tis a soul-breathing eloquence lent from on high,
To picture those feelings, to language forbid,
As it droopingly bends 'neath the shadowy lid.
There's a silence that speaks in the mute falling tear;
Ah! it breathes deeper anguish, more sorrow sincere,
Than the voice of affliction, in love's deepest wail,
Did ever pour forth, the soft heart to assail.
Ah! it breathes deeper anguish, more sorrow sincere,
Than the voice of affliction, in love's deepest wail,
Did ever pour forth, the soft heart to assail.
There's a silence that speaks in the deep heart-felt sigh;
Ah! it echoes a mute half-concealed agony;
And the darkening shadows that flit o'er the brow,
Betoken the sunset of happiness now.
Ah! it echoes a mute half-concealed agony;
And the darkening shadows that flit o'er the brow,
Betoken the sunset of happiness now.
There's a silence that speaks in the varying smile:
Who hath not felt how the endearment, the wile,
Who hath not felt how the endearment, the wile,
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