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!
Do you have any comments, criticism, paraphrasis or analysis of this poem that you feel would assist other visitors in understanding the meaning or the theme of this poem by Emily Dickinson better? If accepted, your analysis will be added to this page of American Poems. Together we can build a wealth of information, but it will take some discipline and determination.
Joy affects me much more than sorrow.
This poem has amazing images. I think this poem speaks to conditions of the time and coping methods. Difficult times taught many “how” to deal with sadness and grief. If difficulties are the norm, we’re used to dealing with them. So when something joyful happens, it throws us for a loop. This poem reminds me in many ways of TS Eliot’s “The Waste Land.”