Get out the microscope, because we’re going through this poem line-by-line.
Lines 109-120
I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.
But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.
In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold:
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more.
- He considers it a sin to write about his grief, because words can't really convey the Truth (yes—with a capital T) of what he's feeling.
- Writing poetry, though, gives him some pain relief.
- He's here comparing the "mechanic exercise," or precision involved in writing poetry ("measured language"), to the feeling you get when using narcotics. It's taking his mind off things.
- So, he's going to wrap himself in words like a set of clothes that will protect him from the cold (simile alert).
- He's only going to be able to give an outline of his true grief in words, though, since it's so difficult to convey.