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.