The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Silence
SILENCE.
Curse on this tongue, that has my heart betray'd,And his great secret open laid!For, of all persons, chiefly sheShould not the ills I suffer know;Since 't is a thing might dangerous grow,Only in her to pity me:Since ’tis for me to lose my life more fit,Than ’tis for her to save and ransom it.
Ah! never more shall thy unwilling earMy helpless story hear;Discourse and talk awake does keepThe rude unquiet painThat in my breast does reign;Silence perhaps may make it sleep:I'll bind that sore up I did ill reveal;The wound, if once it close, may chance to heal.
No, 't will ne'er heal; my love will never die,Though it should speechless lie. A river, ere it meet the sea,As well might stay its source,As my love can his course,Unless it join and mix with thee:If any end or stop of it be found,We know the flood runs still, though under ground.