Grief
I TELL you, hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to Gods throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness,
In souls as tries, lieth silent-bare
Uhe blang, vertical eye-glare
Of the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, express
Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death--
Most like a moal statue set
In everlasting watd moveless woe
Till itself crumble to the dust beh.
Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:
If it could weep, it could arise and go.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning