Louise Chandler Moulton

Silent Sorrow

If she unclosed her lips and made her moan
She would not be so weary with her woe--
A burden shared is lightened: even so
The weight is heavier that we bear alone,
And anguish, pent within, turns hearts to stone.
The fellowship of sorrow to forego--
To suffer and be silent--is to know
The blackest blossom from the black root grown.

And yet great joys and greatest woes are dumb:
Small is the sum that reckoning can compute--
The shallows babble, but the depths are mute--
The great mid-sea our measure may not plumb:
King Love, King Pain, King Death, in silence come;
And, meeting them, we silently salute.