cf. A. McFarlin, “A Symphony” (ca. 1918)
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!
–Emily Dickinson
Sad lady, blue lady…
