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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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