IX.
Reading edition
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!