I pass in silenceI talk to the bird as they sing iÂ’ the morn,
The larks and the sparrows that spring from the corn,
The chaffinch and linnet that sing in the bush,
Till the zephur-like breezes that sing in the bush,
The silent I go and in fancy I steal
A kiss from the lips of a name I conceal;
But should I meet her IÂ’ve cherished for years
I pass by in silence, in fondness and tears.
Yes, I pass her in silence and say not a word,
And the noise of my footsteps may scarcely be heard,
I scarcely presume to cast on her eyes;
And then for a week, I do nothing but sigh.
If I look on a wild flower I see her face there;
There it is in its beauty, all radient and fair;
And should she pass by, IÂ’ve nothing to say,
We are both of us silent and have our own way.
I talk to the birds, the winds, and the rains;
My love to my dear one I never explain,
I talk to the flower which are growing all wild,
As if one was herself and the other her child;
I utter sweet words in my fanciful way,
But if she comes by IÂ’ve nothing to say;
To look for a kiss I would if I dare,
But I feel myself lost when near to my fair.
John ClareRemember I used to say I like talking to trees? He is even better, he talks to the birds, the winds and the rains.
My shifu!
