I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight
Beat upward to God's throne in loud
Of shrieking and reproach.
Full desertness,
In souls as countries, lieth
Under the blanching, vertical
Of the absolute Heavens.
Deep-hearted man,
Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death—Most like a monumental statue
In everlasting watch and moveless
Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.
Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:
If it could weep, it could arise and go.
