AS oftentimes the too resplendent sun <br /> Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon <br /> Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won <br /> A single ballad from the nightingale, <br /> So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail, <br /> And all my sweetest singing out of tune. <br /> <br /> And as at dawn across the level mead <br /> On wings impetuous some wind will come, <br /> And with its too harsh kisses break the reed <br /> Which was its only instrument of song, <br /> So my too stormy passions work me wrong, <br /> And for excess of Love my Love is dumb. <br /> <br /> But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show <br /> Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung; <br /> Else it were better we should part, and go, <br /> Thou to some lips of sweeter melody, <br /> And I to nurse the barren memory <br /> Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.<br /><br />Oscar Wilde<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/silentium-amoris/
