Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

The Test

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,
'T was the new liquor, --
That was all!

Power is only pain,
Stranded, through discipline,
Till weights will hang.
Give balm to giants,
And they 'll wilt, like men.
Give Himmaleh, --
They 'll carry him!

1. Memorials
2. I Went to Heaven
3. There Is a Shame of Nobleness
4. Triumph
5. Pompless No Life Can Pass Away

Katharine Tynan The Test ("Love has moods: and I am cold")

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