[BNP/E3, 153 – 33^v]

Sonnet.

Could I say what I think, could I express

My every hidden and too silent thought,

And bring my feelings, in perfection wrought,

To one unforcèd point of living stress;

Could I breathe forth my soul, could I confess

The inmost secrets to my nature brought,

I might be great; yet[1] none to me has taught

A language well[2] to figure my distress.

Yet day and night to me new whispers bring,

And night and day from me old whispers take....

Oh for a word, one phrase in which to fling

All that I think or[3] feel and so to wake

The world, but I am dumb and cannot sing —

Dumb as yon clouds before the thunders break.

                        Charles Robert Anon

May 1904

[1] yet ^/but\

[2] well ^/e’en\

[3] or ^/and\