I can wade Grief
Whole Pools of it
I’m used to that
But the least push of Joy
Breaks up my feet
And I tip—drunken
Let no Pebble—smile
‘Twas the New Liquor
That was all

Power is only Pain
Stranded, thro’ Discipline
Till Weights—will hang
Give Balm—to Giants
And they’ll wilt, like Men
Give Himmaleh
They’ll Carry—Him


Emily Dickinson