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.