Grief

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.