Emily Dickinson (sí, ella otra vez) tiene un poema para cada alegría, pero también otro para cada tristeza:

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading--treading--till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through--

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum--
Kept beating--beating--till I thought
My Mind was going numb--

... una forma muy visual de describir un alma convulsa.