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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 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 –

There's Grief of Want – and grief of Cold –/A sort they call "Despair" –

And though I may not guess the kind –/Correctly – yet to me

A piercing Comfort it affords/In passing Calvary –