Jan 21, 2015
Sonnet
Be secret, heart; and if your dreams have come To nothingness, and if their weight was sweet Within you then be silent in defeat, Counting your lost imaginings as the sum Of destined joy. Lest men should call you dumb Sing still the songs that hold within their beat The hopes of every man, and the wild, sweet Predictions of what earth shall yet become. Be secret, heart. The words that you would tell Of your own longing, and your keen distress Hold them to silence; kill, destroy, suppress That melody, although you love it well. And sing the songs that men have always sung Of love and sorrow, since the world was young. --Anna Virginia Mitchell