Could I say what I think, could I express
My every hidden and too-silent though,
And bring my feelings, in perfection wrought,
To one unforced point of living stres
Could I breathe forth my soul, could I confess
The inmost secrets to my nature brought;
I might be great, yet none to me hath taught
A language well to figure my distres
Yet day and night to me new whispers bring,
And night, and day from me old whispers tak
Oh for a word, one phrase in which to fling