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Poem by Henry King, Bishop of Chichester


Silence


A Sonnet

Peace my hearts blab, be ever dumb,
Sorrowes speak loud without a tongue:
And my perplexed thoughts forbear
To breath your selves in any ear:
Tis scarce a true or manly grief
Which gaddes abroad to find relief.
Was ever stomack that lackt meat
Nourisht by what another eat?
Can I bestow it, or will woe
Forsake me when I bid it goe?
Then Ile believe a wounded breast
May heal by shrift, and purchase rest.
But if imparting it I do
Not ease my self, but trouble two,
'Tis better I alone possess
My treasure of unhappiness:
Engrossing that which is my own
No longer then it is unknown.
If silence be a kind of death,
He kindles grief who gives it breath;
But let it rak't in embers lye,
On thine own hearth 'twill quickly dye;
And spight of fate, that very wombe
Which carries it, shall prove its tombe. 



Henry King, Bishop of Chichester


Henry King, Bishop of Chichester's other poems:
  1. Upon A Table-Book Presented To A Lady
  2. On Two Children Dying Of One Disease, And Buried In One Grave
  3. The Short Wooing
  4. An Elegy Upon The Death Of Mr. Edward Holt
  5. To My Sister Anne King, Who Chid Me In Verse For Being Angry


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Thomas Hood Silence ("There is a silence where hath been no sound")
  • Eleanor Farjeon Silence ("Words and the body always have been much pain to me")
  • Edgar Poe Silence ("There are some qualitiessome incorporate things")
  • Helen Cone Silence ("Why should I sing of earth or heaven? not rather rest")
  • Edgar Masters Silence ("I have known the silence of the stars and of the sea")

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