When some beloved voice that was to you Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, And silence, against which you dare not cry, Aches round you like a strong disease and new What hope? what help? what music will undo That silence to your sense? Not friendship's sigh, Not reason's subtle count; not melody Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew; Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress-trees To the clear moon; nor yet the spheric laws Self-chanted, nor the angels' sweet 'All hails,' Met in the smile of God: nay, none of these. Speak thou, availing Christ! and fill this pause.
Return to the Elizabeth Barrett Browning library , or . . . Read the next poem; Tears