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
Wilt, like men.
Give Himmaleh,-
They’ll carry him!

-Emily Dickinson.