I tell you hopeless grief is passionless;
That only men incredulous of despair,
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air
Beat upward to God's throne in loud access
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness,
In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare
Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare
Of the absolute heavens. Deep-hearted man, express
Grief for thy dead in silence like to death–
Most like a monumental statue set
In everlasting watch and moveless woe
Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.
Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:
If it could weep, it could arise and go.

In this sonnet, Elizabeth Barrett Browning explores the nature of grief, suggesting that true, hopeless sorrow is devoid of outward passion. She contrasts the superficial expressions of anguish with the silent, profound grief of one who truly understands loss. The "deep-hearted man" becomes a metaphorical statue, immobilized by despair, unable to voice his sorrow, which is compared to a barren landscape under an unyielding sky. Browning implies that the loud expressions of grief by those "half-taught in anguish" lack depth and understanding. In contrast, the deep-hearted man, like a "monumental statue," silently endures his suffering. This depiction suggests that profound grief is a private, silent experience, its weight so immense that it renders one immobile, much like a statue that can only crumble over time.