I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.

One of the things I love most about poetry is how it can seamlessly intersect with my day, even when I'm not looking for it to do so.  The poem below caught my eye today and I've been puzzling over it on and off, between tasks:

Before the World Was Made
by William Butler Yeats

If I make the lashes dark
And the eyes more bright
And the lips more scarlet,
Or ask if all be right
From mirror after mirror,
No vanity's displayed:
I'm looking for the face I had
Before the world was made.

What if I look upon a man
As though on my beloved,
And my blood be cold the while
And my heart unmoved?
Why should he think me cruel
Or that he is betrayed?
I'd have him love the thing that was
Before the world was made.

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I can't quiet my mind enough to develop a theory as to what this poem is getting at, which is probably why it's continuing to stick in my head.  But I've also been thinking a lot about someone very dear to me who is suffering from chronic pain and various daily life difficulties.  I can't say much about it because I would prefer to keep it private, but also because I will not be able to avoid crying at work, which would not be good. So I will just go on to say that I think there is something now connecting in my head about that poem and about wanting that person to hang on and not give up - not give in to the seemingly overwhelming prospect of ongoing pain.  Hang on and remember the you that was there before the world was made. This troubles me so much that I am having trouble breathing and am beginning to get a stress-induced headache.  There are people I can be there for and there are those that I absolutely need to be there for me, ones I cannot live without.  This person is the latter but needs me to be the former and I really don't know what to do and how to do it.  Hopefully just doing whatever I can do is enough.