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83. | [LXXXIII. Perhaps I make my grief too plain] |
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The book of the dead | ||
169
[LXXXIII. Perhaps I make my grief too plain]
Perhaps I make my grief too plain;
Perhaps the sharpness of its smart
Strikes too directly on the brain,
And fails to reach the deeper heart.
Perhaps the sharpness of its smart
Strikes too directly on the brain,
And fails to reach the deeper heart.
Some things are clearer, barely caught
In shadowy outlines, that suggest
A feeling rather than a thought,
Quick fancy filling up the rest.
In shadowy outlines, that suggest
A feeling rather than a thought,
Quick fancy filling up the rest.
If I have erred through stress of truth,
And made my picture's tones too high,
Know that this vision of my youth
Cut a clear line against the sky;
And made my picture's tones too high,
Know that this vision of my youth
Cut a clear line against the sky;
And every light and shade I saw
Was terribly distinct to me:
I am too dull to err by law;
I can but paint the thing I see.
Was terribly distinct to me:
I am too dull to err by law;
I can but paint the thing I see.
The book of the dead | ||