Classic Poem

" SILENCE is golden," saith the saw,
And rightly is extolled;
For Speech, too oft, outrides the law
By waxing overbold:
Yet he, I think (of mortal mould!),
Most needs the aid of " cheek," —
The man who can no tale unfold, —
The man who cannot speak!

He listens with a kind of awe,
And hears around him rolled
The long, reverberate guffaw
That greets the quicker-souled;
He hears the jest, or new or old,
And mutely eats his " leek," —
Is classed as either dull or cold, —
The man who cannot speak!

He may have " Latin in his mawe,"
He may keep down controlled
Potentialities of " jaw"
Unmatched by any scold;
He may have thoughts of sterling gold
For each day in the week;
But he must all these things withhold, —
The man who cannot speak.

ENVOY .

Friends , 'tis of me the fable's told;
Your sufferance I seek;
In me that shameless sight behold, —
The man who cannot speak!