Within the silent walls she cries
The little tears of all she dares
The dreadful woe of little cares
While, deep below, her real self dies.
The awful things she cannot speak
Too terrible for mind to know
But cold despair must overflow
Some utterable object seek.
Confused by pains that seem too strong
She calls her misery her shame
Because she does not know the name
Of where her agonies belong.
Her frailty thus is the disguise
Of the great strength with which she bears
The load of horror which she wears
The very while herself denies.