POEMS. 47

XXXIII. GRIEFS.

T 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 *.

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