Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 183
CLXXXIII
Two differing sorrows made these eyes grow dim:
Woe, for which all must weep, while weep they can,
And that more poignant anguish known to him
Whose grief's the jest of every other man.
Woe, for which all must weep, while weep they can,
And that more poignant anguish known to him
Whose grief's the jest of every other man.