WHY art thou silent! Is thy love a plant <br /> Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air <br /> Of absence withers what was once so fair? <br />Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant? <br />Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant-- <br /> Bound to thy service with unceasing care, <br />The mind's least generous wish a mendicant <br /> For nought but what thy happiness could spare. <br />Speak--though this soft warm heart, once free to hold <br /> A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, <br />Be left more desolate, more dreary cold <br /> Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow <br /> 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine-- <br /> Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know!<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/speak/
