In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 5

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 outline and no more.