Speak loudly, if you speak of Love,
for Love is silent, and oft unheard;
whether youthful boasting applies,
or aged regret may recall a word,
speak as tho’ your heart were fire,
and to be alone would be absurd.
Speak soft, if you speak of Sorrow,
for Sorrow is but a finite caress;
whether to ply its tongue to cheek,
or reside itself in somber death,
speak to Sorrow as a gilded ghost,
and let it then find conscious breath.
Speak wisely, if you speak of Tears,
for weeping manifests many things;
both Love and Sorrow mist the eyes,
yet either Joy or Woe, as it wrings,
but come to mind some sweet recall,
which, for Tears alone, a true heart sings.