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Posted By Alina Gregorian On April 17, 2010 @ 1:36 am In Uncategorized | 1 Comment
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 in outline and no more.
– Alfred Lord Tennyson
from “In Memoriam A.H.H.”
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