Elizabeth Barrett Browning



                   Grief

                   (from Sonnets from the Portuguese)


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


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