I loose the secrets of my soul
And mint my heart to heavy words
Lest you should need to ask a dole
Of singing from the winds and birds—
You will not heed nor bear my soul.
I coin again a greater sum
Of silence, and you will not heed:
The fallow spaces call you “Come,
The season’s ripe to sow the seed”—
Both I and these are better dumb.
I have no way to make you hear,
No song will echo in your heart;
Now must I with the fading year
Fade. Without meeting we must part—
No song nor silence you will hear.