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'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—