SHE opened her moist crimson lips to sing; <br />And from her throat that is so white and full <br />The notes leaped like a fountain. A smooth lull <br />Was o'er my heart: as when—a viol—string <br />Having been broken—the first musical ring <br />Once over, all the rest is but a dull <br />Crude dissonance, howe'er thou twist and pull <br />The sundered fragments. A most weary thing <br />It is within the perished heart to seek <br />Pain, and not find it, but a clinging pall <br />Like sleep upon the mind. The mere set plan <br />Of life then comes, and grief that is not weak <br />Because it has no tears. Life's all—in—all <br />Was certainly at end when this began.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/afterwards-10/
