The Test
I can wade grief,Whole pools of it, --I 'm used to that.But the least push of joyBreaks 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!
Words in this poem
- wade n.
- Woad. Mortimer.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Test is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete, Project Gutenberg ebook #12242; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Emily Dickinson, The Test, in Poems (1890–1896), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #12242, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/dickinson-poems/the-test.html, id L03641.
Form and metre
The Test is 16 lines in 2 stanzas. The metre is trochaic trimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 78%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 4.9 syllables. 4 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 6% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in trochaic trimeter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 2 AA--A-- painA · disciplineA · hang · giants · menA · himmaleh · him
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against trochaic trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| I can wade grief, | 4 | ···· |
| Whole pools of it, -- | 4 | ···· |
| I 'm used to that. | 5 | ····· |
| But the least push of joy | 6 | ······ |
| Breaks up my feet, | 4 | ···· |
| And I tip -- drunken. | 5 | ···/˘ |
| Let no pebble smile, | 5 | ··/˘· |
| 'T was the new liquor, -- | 6 | ····/˘ |
| That was all! | 3 | ··· |
| Power is only pain, | 6 | /˘·/˘· |
| Stranded, through discipline, | 6 | /˘·/˘˘ |
| Till weights will hang. | 4 | ···· |
| Give balm to giants, | 5 | ···/˘ |
| And they 'll wilt, like men. | 6 | ······ |
| Give Himmaleh, -- | 4 | ···· |
| They 'll carry him! | 5 | ··/˘· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.