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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            V.
             
      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, Ill wrap me oer,
          Like coarsest clothes against the cold:
          But that large grief which these enfold
      Is given in outline and no more.
       


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