Silence!—the whole world aches with it,
It swims from peak to peak;
Great God! if to my straining heart
Once more a voice might speak—
Yea, even though the distance shook
Its strength, and left it weak,
I know the word of blessed cheer
Were mine—if it might speak!
But waves of silence higher swim
About me, week on week;
Yet higher they will rise, until
They lip my mouth and cheek,
My eyes and brow; my hair will float,
Like kelp-things, brown and sleek,—
And then, at last, a voice will break
The silence, God, and speak.
A draft of “The Lost Voice.” This poem would later appear in Higginson’s literary column “Clover Leaves” in The Seattle Times newspaper. Draft courtesy of the Ella Higginson Papers, Center for Pacific Northwest Studies, Heritage Resources, Western Washington University, Bellingham Washington.