Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

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.

1. Memorials
2. I Went to Heaven
3. Their Height in Heaven Comforts Not
4. There Is a Shame of Nobleness
5. Triumph

Print

2027 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version