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Poem by Henry King, Bishop of Chichester


A Sonnet

Peace my hearts blab, be ever dumb,
Sorrowes speak loud without a tongue:
And my perplexed thoughts forbear
To breath your selves in any ear:
Tis scarce a true or manly grief
Which gaddes abroad to find relief.
Was ever stomack that lackt meat
Nourisht by what another eat?
Can I bestow it, or will woe
Forsake me when I bid it goe?
Then Ile believe a wounded breast
May heal by shrift, and purchase rest.
But if imparting it I do
Not ease my self, but trouble two,
'Tis better I alone possess
My treasure of unhappiness:
Engrossing that which is my own
No longer then it is unknown.
If silence be a kind of death,
He kindles grief who gives it breath;
But let it rak't in embers lye,
On thine own hearth 'twill quickly dye;
And spight of fate, that very wombe
Which carries it, shall prove its tombe. 

Henry King, Bishop of Chichester

Henry King, Bishop of Chichester's other poems:
  1. The Acquittance
  2. To His Friends of Christ-Church upon the Mislike of the Marriage of the Arts Acted at Woodstock
  3. Upon a Braid of Hair in a Heart sent by Mrs. E. H.
  4. To the Queen at Oxford
  5. Upon A Table-Book Presented To A Lady

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Thomas Hood Silence ("There is a silence where hath been no sound")
  • Eleanor Farjeon Silence ("Words and the body always have been much pain to me")
  • Edgar Poe Silence ("There are some qualitiessome incorporate things")
  • Helen Cone Silence ("Why should I sing of earth or heaven? not rather rest")
  • Edgar Masters Silence ("I have known the silence of the stars and of the sea")

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