Classic Poem

I WILL not speak. For ever from old days
Another voice assails him; shall mine come
To break that perfect music? Make me dumb,
God, who art merciful! and of thy grace
Keep my lips silent. I have heard him praise
Her speech, as sweet as late bird singing home,
And soft as on far shore breaks the pale foam,
Tender as twilight's peace on woodland ways.

I serve his pleasure, wait with ears attent;
Indeed, it well befits me to be meek:
His joy is passed, his fortune has been spent,
And I — he found me when he turned to seek,
In place of bliss, some pale and dull content —
I will be faithful, but I will not speak.