Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GRIEFS, by EMILY DICKINSON



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First Line: I measure every grief I meet / with analytic eyes
Last Line: That some are like my own.
Subject(s): Grief; Sorrow; Sadness


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.




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