Yes, who shall tell the value of our tears, <br />Whether we wept aright or idly grieved? <br />There is a tragedy in unloved years, <br />And in those passionate hours by love deceived, <br />In lips unkissed and hopes too soon bereaved, <br />And youth's high courage which no strength could save, <br />And manhood's web of fate by folly weaved, <br />And grey--haired grief brought down into the grave. <br />Who shall distinguish truly and be wise <br />'Twixt grief and grief, 'twixt night and night? The sun <br />Has its own sorrow and a voice that cries <br />Louder than darkness of its joys undone, <br />And pleads with that exceeding bitter cry, <br />``I have tasted honey, and behold, I die!''<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/esther-a-sonnet-sequence-ii/
