Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 1 of 2.djvu/226

 I knew your brother: his mute dust I honour and his living worth: A man more pure and bold and just Was never born into the earth.

I have not look'd upon you nigh, Since that dear soul hath fall'n asleep. Great Nature is more wise than I: I will not tell you not to weep.

And though mine own eyes fill with dew, Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain, I will not even preach to you, "Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain."

Let Grief be her own mistress still. She loveth her own anguish deep More than much pleasure. Let her will Be done—to weep or not to weep.