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letra de emily dickinson - i measure every grief - ghizela rowe

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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 wondеr if when years have pilеd –
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 –

- ghizela rowe

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