'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 Gra** 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—