Matron! the children of whose love, <br />Each to his grave, in youth have passed, <br />And now the mould is heaped above <br />The dearest and the last! <br />Bride! who dost wear the widow's veil <br />Before the wedding flowers are pale! <br />Ye deem the human heart endures <br />No deeper, bitterer grief than yours. <br /> <br />Yet there are pangs of keener wo, <br />Of which the sufferers never speak, <br />Nor to the world's cold pity show <br />The tears that scald the cheek, <br />Wrung from their eyelids by the shame <br />And guilt of those they shrink to name, <br />Whom once they loved, with cheerful will, <br />And love, though fallen and branded, still. <br /> <br />Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead, <br />Thus breaking hearts their pain relieve; <br />And graceful are the tears ye shed, <br />And honoured ye who grieve. <br /> <br />The praise of those who sleep in earth, <br />The pleasant memory of their worth, <br />The hope to meet when life is past, <br />Shall heal the tortured mind at last. <br /> <br />But ye, who for the living lost <br />That agony in secret bear, <br />Who shall with soothing words accost <br />The strength of your despair? <br />Grief for your sake is scorn for them <br />Whom ye lament and all condemn; <br />And o'er the world of spirits lies <br />A gloom from which ye turn your eyes.<br /><br />William Cullen Bryant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-living-lost/
