Could I say what I think, could I ecpress my every hidden too-silent thought, and bring my feelings, in perfection wrought, To one unforced point of living stress.

Could I breath forth my soul,
could I confess.
the inmost secrets to my nature brought;
I might be great, yet none to me hath taught
A language well to figure my distress.

Yet day and night to me new whispers bring,
And night and day from me old whispers take...
Oh for a word, one phrase in which to fling.

All that I think and feel, and so to wake
The world, but I am dumb and cannot sing,
Dumb as yon clouds before the thunders break.