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.

***

I wage not any feud with Death/ For changes wrought on form and face;/ No lower life that earth’s embrace/ May breed with him, can fright my faith.

Eternal process moving on,/ From state to state the spirit walks;/ And these are but the shatter’d stalks,/ Or ruin’d chrysalis of one.

For this alone on Death I wreak/ The wrath that garners in my heart;/ He put our lives so far apart/ We cannot hear each other speak.

***

The great Intelligences fair/ That range above our mortal state,/ In circle round the blessed gate,/ Received and gave him welcome there;