I measure every grief I meet
With narrow, probing, 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
It would not be to die
I note that some gone patient long
At length, renew their smile
An imitation of a light
That has so little oil
I wonder if when years have piled
Some thousands on the harm
That hurt them early such a lapse
Could give them any balm
Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries of nerve
Enlightened to a larger pain
In contrast with the love
The grieved are many I am told
There is the various cause
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
And how they're mostly worn
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own