Poem by Elizabeth Barrett-Browning

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 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. 

1. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 30. I see thine image through my tears to-night
2. To Flush, My Dog
3. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 20. Belovëd, my Belovëd, when I think
4. Sonnets from the Portuguese. 12. Indeed this very love which is my boast
5. Aurora Leigh. Ninth Book

Ella Wilcox Grief ("As the funeral train with its honoured dead")

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