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.