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.