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

Could I breathe forth my soul,
Could I confess...
The inmost secret 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 day and night 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'm dumb and cannot sing,
Dumb as You clouds before the thunders break.