Canto V
I sometimes hold it half a sinTo put in words the grief I feel;For words, like Nature, half revealAnd half conceal the Soul within.
But, for the unquiet heart and brain,A use in measur’d 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 enfoldIs given in outline and no more.