Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/Her Simile
HER SIMILE.
If you should see a statue, one Whose marble name was Silence, sit alone,Whiter than Death and sadder, in the sun, With stony finger pressed to lips of stone;
If from those lips, themselves so still, A fountain's waters restlessly should start,And make a little troubled murmur, till They all were dry: this would be like my heart.