My lips are mute. I cannot speak the thought
That, like a bubble on the placid sea,
Bursts ere it tells the tale with which 't is fraught.
Another comes, and so, eternally,
They rise in hope, to wander spirit-free
About the earth. 'T were best they should not break
The Silence, which itself is ecstacy
And Godlike Eloquence, or my frail voice shake
A single echo, the expressive Calm to break.