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Poem by Louise Chandler Moulton
If she unclosed her lips and made her moan She would not be so weary with her woe-- A burden shared is lightened: even so The weight is heavier that we bear alone, And anguish, pent within, turns hearts to stone. The fellowship of sorrow to forego-- To suffer and be silent--is to know The blackest blossom from the black root grown. And yet great joys and greatest woes are dumb: Small is the sum that reckoning can compute-- The shallows babble, but the depths are mute-- The great mid-sea our measure may not plumb: King Love, King Pain, King Death, in silence come; And, meeting them, we silently salute.
Louise Chandler Moulton
Louise Chandler Moulton's other poems:
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