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SONNET 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 stress. 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 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 and feel, and so to wake The world; but I am dumb and cannot sing, Dumb as You clouds before the thunders break. Alexander Search, May 1904
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Fernando Pessoa
1458
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