WE count the broken lyres that rest <br /> Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, <br /> But o'er their silent sister's breast <br /> The wild-flowers who will stoop to number? <br /> A few can touch the magic string, <br /> And noisy Fame is proud to win them:-- <br /> Alas for those that never sing, <br /> But die with all their music in them! <br /> <br /> Nay, grieve not for the dead alone <br /> Whose song has told their hearts' sad story,-- <br /> Weep for the voiceless, who have known <br /> The cross without the crown of glory! <br /> Not where Leucadian breezes sweep <br /> O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, <br /> But where the glistening night-dews weep <br /> On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow. <br /> <br /> O hearts that break and give no sign <br /> Save whitening lip and fading tresses, <br /> Till Death pours out his longed-for wine <br /> Slow-dropped from Misery's crushing presses,-- <br /> If singing breath or echoing chord <br /> To every hidden pang were given, <br /> What endless melodies were poured, <br /> As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven!<br /><br />Oliver Wendell Holmes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-voiceless/
