  Unvoic-ed songs that always die On the strings of the harp that gives them birth, The flutter of hope, a breath, a sigh, The song nor asks nor gives a why— The poet's song he deems most worth. The silent music of the heart is sweet To listen to. The slow and measured beat Of the imprisoned soul that finds a voice In melodious sound oft may rejoice Us much; but that which sometimes plays on strings Too fine to sympathize with words e'er sings The sweetest melodies, though never heard Except by ear of him whose soul is stirred. |
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