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

The grieved are many, I am told
The reason deeper lies —
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
Of those that stand alone
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own