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. The Riddle We Can Guess
2. So Bashful When I Spied Her
3. Safe in Their Alabaster Chambers
4. The Martyrs
5. The Thought Beneath So Slight a Film

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

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