Original Poem: Where Do the Sleeping Passions Lie?

I was inspired by some reading I was doing a few nights ago, finally got it to the point where I feel comfortable sharing it. I hope you enjoy!

Where do the sleeping passions lie?
Behind silver tongues, under pristine nobility,
Entombed in well-polished tranquility.
There, in darkness, they will, in winter die.
It is hoped.

High culture shuns this lowly nature.
What need is there of youthful Summer's heat?
Fields of Wisdom already sown, tended, reaped.
Why till a spent and barren pasture, or
Bear the yoke?

Stoic resolutions, grown in ancient fields,
stored in open mouths, that readily profess
to their harvest of eternal righteousness .
Now the soil is cold, roots are dead, seeds never yield;
It is said.

Do not be dismayed, cultivators of spirit!
Winter ends and icy hearts will thaw;
watering buried passions that erupt savage and raw.
Nourishing new minds that have strength to bear it
and bury the dead.