I measure every Grief I meet

Emily Dickinson· 1830 – 1886· American· 1862

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I measure every Grief I meet

Emily Dickinson

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 —

Mislaid — with Conscientiousness —

The Species of the Curve —

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 —

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Written c. 1862. Published 1929.

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