Sometimes I Hold it half a Sin by Lord Alfred Tennyson

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.

by Lord Alfred Tennyson

Other poems by 'Lord Alfred Tennyson'

Locksley Hall

The Miller's Daughter

Lady Clare

Late, Late, So Late

After-Thought

The Lotos-eaters

Morte D'Arthur

Tithonus

Dedication

Of Old Sat Freedom

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