660
'Tis good-the looking back on Grief-
To re-endure a Day-
We thought the Mighty Funeral-
Of All Conceived Joy-
To recollect how Busy Grass
Did meddle-one by one-
Till all the Grief with Summer-waved
And none could see the stone.
And though the Woe you have Today
Be larger-As the Sea
Exceeds its Unremembered Drop-
They're Water-equally-