Poem by Eleanor Farjeon

Silence

Words and the body always have been much pain to me,
  Little fetters and drags on immensities
  Never to be defined. I am done with these.
Meanings of silence suddenly all grow plain to me.

Something still may sing like a joyous flute in me
  Out of the life that dares to be voiced aloud,
  But speech no more shall swathe like a burial-shroud
Things unencompassable now eloquent-mute in me.

1. Sonnets. 16. O lovely life, how you have worn me out
2. Spring-Dawn
3. Poplars at Night
4. Sonnets. 5. When all is said, we can but turn our eyes
5. Three Miles to Penn

Charles Towne Silence ("I need not shout my faith. Thrice eloquent")

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