Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
I measure every grief I meet with narrow, probing eyes - I wonder if it weighs like mine - or has an easier size.
The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,-- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity
When he tells us about his Father, we distrust him. When he shows us his Home, we turn away, but when he confides to us that he is acquainted with grief, we listen, for that also is an acquaintance of our own.
I can wade Grief -- Whole Pools of it -- I'm used to that -- But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet -- And I tip -- drunken -- Let no Pebble -- smile -- 'Twas the New Liquor -- That was all!
The sweets of pillage can be known To no one but the thief, Compassion for integrity Is his divinest grief.
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