They have no song, the sedges dry, <br />And still they sing. <br />It is within my breast they sing, <br />As I pass by. <br />Within my breast they touch a string, <br />They wake a sigh. <br />There is but sound of sedges dry; <br />In me they sing.<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-in-the-songless/
