Sympathy Quotes

His eyes are quickened so with grief,
He can watch a grass or leaf
Every instant grow; he can
Clearly through a flint wall see,
Or watch the startled spirit flee
From the throat of a dead man.
Across two counties he can hear
And catch your words before you speak.
The woodlouse or the maggot’s weak
Clamour rings in his sad ear,
And noise so slight it would surpass
Credence–drinking sound of grass,
Worm talk, clashing jaws of moth
Chumbling holes in cloth;
The groan of ants who undertake
Gigantic loads for honour’s sake
(Their sinews creak, their breath comes thin);
Whir of spiders when they spin,
And minute whispering, mumbling, sighs
Of idle grubs and flies.
This man is quickened so with grief,
He wanders god-like or like thief
Inside and out, below, above,

Without relief seeking lost love.

(Poem By Robert Graves)

Now I knew I lost her
Not that she was gone
But Remoteness travelled
On her Face and Tongue.

Alien, though adjoining
As a Foreign Race
Traversed she though pausing
Latitudeless Place.

Elements Unaltered
Universe the same
But Love’s transmigration
Somehow this had come

Henceforth to remember
Nature took the Day
I had paid so much for
His is Penury
Not who toils for Freedom
Or for Family
But the Restitution
Of Idolatry.

(Poem By Emily Dickinson)

If I’m lost now
That I was found
Shall still my transport be
That once on me  those Jasper Gates
Blazed open suddenly

That in my awkward gazing face
The Angels  softly peered
And touched me with their fleeces,
Almost as if they cared
I’m banished  now you know it
How foreign that can be
You’ll know  Sir when the Savior’s face
Turns so  away from you.

(Poem By Emily Dickinson)

I lost a World the other day!
Has Anybody found?
You’ll know it by the Row of Stars
Around its forehead bound.

A Rich man  might not notice it
Yet to my frugal Eye,
Of more Esteem than Ducats
Oh find it Sir for me!

(Poem By Emily Dickinson)

Expanse cannot be lost
Not Joy, but a Decree
Is Deity
His Scene, Infinity
Whose rumor’s Gate was shut so tight
Before my Beam was sown,
Not even a Prognostic’s push
Could make a Dent thereon

The World that thou hast opened
Shuts for thee,
But not alone,
We all have followed thee
Escape more slowly
To thy Tracts of Sheen
The Tent is listening,
But the Troops are gone!

(Poem By Emily Dickinson)

The people take the thing of course,
They marvel not to see
This strange, unnatural divorce
Betwixt delight and me.

I know the face of sorrow, and I know
Her voice with all its varied cadences;
Which way she turns and treads; how at her ease
Things fit her dreary largess to bestow.

Where sorrow long abides, some be that grow
To hold her dear, but I am not of these;
Joy is my friend, not sorrow; by strange seas,
In some far land we wandered, long ago.

O faith, long tried, that knows no faltering!
O vanished treasure of her hands and face!–
Beloved–to whose memory I cling,
Unmoved within my heart she holds her place.

And never shall I hail that other “friend,”
Who yet shall dog my footsteps to the end.

(Poem By Amy Levy)