Arthur Hallam
Arthur Henry Hallam
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Deep grief refuses warping. You can fold
It, put it in a safe-deposit box
Protected by a speechless cipher, cold
Steel doors with sleepless guards, and keyless locks,
But grief still stains. Indeed, these ponderous gates,
Unbroken codes and sentries buckle if
Eternity is factored in. Grief waits,
Defying time’s distortion. Grief is stiff
With dark formality of blackest silk
Held harshly in by adamantine stays
Around the heart, stays made of Satan’s milk
From some Antarctic hell and hexing phrase.
..Such grief deflects degrading of its strength
….Because it knows its own unchanging length.