What is there now more merciless

Than such fast lips that will not speak;

That stir not if one curse or bless

A God who made them weak?

More maddening to one there is naught

Than such white eyelids sealed on eyes,

Eyes vacant of the thing named thought,

An exile in the skies.

Ah, silent tongue! ah, dull, closed ear!

What angel utterances low

Have wooed you? so you may not hear

Our mortal words of woe!