Henry Timrod (Генри Тимрод)

Why Silent?

     Why am I silent from year to year?
      Needs must I sing on these blue March days?
     What will you say, when I tell you here,
      That already, I think, for a little praise,
             I have paid too dear?

     For, I know not why, when I tell my thought,
      It seems as though I fling it away;
     And the charm wherewith a fancy is fraught,
      When secret, dies with the fleeting lay
             Into which it is wrought.

     So my butterfly-dreams their golden wings
      But seldom unfurl from their chrysalis;
     And thus I retain my loveliest things,
      While the world, in its worldliness, does not miss
             What a poet sings.

1. On Pressing Some Flowers
2. Hymn Sung at the Consecration of Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S.C.
3. The Two Armies
4. Sonnets. 14. Are These Wild Thoughts, Thus Fettered in My Rhymes
5. The Rosebuds

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