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.

– In Memoriam A. H. H.: 5. by Lord Alfred Tennyson

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