Because you do not speak,
You are the one I seek.
You spoke to me before
And now, in the cold mist, I wander the cold shore.
Cordelia said little to her father, the king,
A little more than nothing;
She said enough, we knew,
Before tragedy, in the form of rage, broke through.
We might attempt to describe our love,
But when the king’s in a rage, it will never be enough.
Make a play of silence, instead.
Hate will still fall on your head.
Since I am not a king
I hardly need a thing.
How much do I need to know?
A hint of love will exterminate my woe.
I wait in the shade
Where woe and jealousy are made.
Do not think your silence recommends you;
So vast is silence,
A single moment it spends, outspends you.
A single word—from you—to me–
Will stop my crying by the crying sea.
Scarriet 
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