Canto V

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.