I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.
But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.
In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold;
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more. 

Added: Mar 11 2005 | Viewed: 697 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Alfred Lord Tennyson
Poem: In Memoriam A. H. H.: 5. Sometimes I Hold it half a Sin

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