I measure every grief I meet With analytic eyes; I wonder if it weighs like mine, Or has an easier size. . I wonder if they bore it long, Or did it just begin? I could not tell the date of mine, It feels so old a pain. . I wonder if it hurts to live, And if they have to try, And whether, could they choose between, They would not rather die. . I wonder if when years have piled -- Some thousands -- on the cause Of early hurt, if such a lapse Could give them any pause; . Or would they go on aching still Through centuries above, Enlightened to a larger pain By contrast with the love. . The grieved are many, I am told; The reason deeper lies, -- Death is but one and comes but once, And only nails the eyes. . There's grief of want, and grief of cold, -- A sort they call "despair;" There's banishment from native eyes, In sight of native air. . And though I may not guess the kind Correctly, yet to me A piercing comfort it affords In passing Calvary. . To note the fashions of the cross, Of those that stand alone, Still fascinated to presume That some are like my own. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GOLDEN CORPSE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CONTRA MORTEM: THE BEING AS MEMORY by HAYDEN CARRUTH WORDS IN A CERTAIN APPROPRIATE MODE by HAYDEN CARRUTH SISTER MARIA CELESTE, GALILEO'S DAUGHTER, WRITES TO FRIEND by MADELINE DEFREES SEPARATION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO RIDGELY TORRENCE - PLAYWRIGHT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |