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 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 – Enlightened to a larger Pain – In Contrast with the Love – 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 – There's Grief of Want – and grief of Cold – A sort they call "Despair" – There's Banishment from native Eyes – In sight of Native Air – And though I may not guess the kind – Correctly – yet to me A piercing Comfort it affords In passing Calvary – To note the fashions – of the Cross – And how they're mostly worn – Still fascinated to presume That Some – are like my own –
Emily Dickinson - 1830-1886
Knows how to forget! (433)
Knows how to forget! But could It teach it? Easiest of Arts, they say When one learn how Dull Hearts have died In the Acquisition Sacrificed for Science Is common, though, now — I went to School But was not wiser Globe did not teach it Nor Logarithm Show "How to forget"! Say — some — Philosopher! Ah, to be erudite Enough to know! Is it in a Book? So, I could buy it — Is it like a Planet? Telescopes would know — If it be invention It must have a Patent. Rabbi of the Wise Book Don't you know?