Joy Poems - Poems For Joy

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'Tis So Much Joy! - Poem by Emily Dickinson

172

'Tis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I,
Have ventured all upon a throw!
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so—
This side the Victory!

Life is but Life! And Death, but Death!
Bliss is, but Bliss, and Breath but Breath!
And if indeed I fail,
At least, to know the worst, is sweet!
Defeat means nothing but Defeat,
No drearier, can befall!

And if I gain! Oh Gun at Sea!
Oh Bells, that in the Steeples be!
At first, repeat it slow!
For Heaven is a different thing,
Conjectured, and waked sudden in—
And might extinguish me!

Comments about 'Tis So Much Joy! by Emily Dickinson

  • Dev Gupta 6/9/2016 2:14:00 AM

    This is a really nice poem but i don't see sorrow anywhere Gangadharan. Instead in this poem the poet is filled with joy. Reply

    3 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Kim Barney 3/8/2015 2:03:00 PM

    Deep sorrow, Gangadharan?
    'Tis so much joy! 'Tis so much joy!
    I like most of Dickinson's poetry, but this is certainly not one of her best, and hardly deserves Poem of the Day when so many better ones could have been chosen.
    Reply

    11 person liked.
    11 person did not like.
  • Gangadharan Nair Pulingat 3/8/2015 9:50:00 AM

    deep sorrow the expression of the poem. very interesting poetry. Reply

    8 person liked.
    8 person did not like.
Joy Poems
  1. 1. 'Tis So Much Joy!
    Emily Dickinson
  2. 2. Infant Joy
    William Blake
  3. 3. Joy And Sorrow Chapter Viii
    Khalil Gibran
  4. 4. Joy And Pleasure
    William Henry Davies
  5. 5. The Joy Of Being Poor
    Robert William Service
  6. 6. The Joy Of Little Things
    Robert William Service
  7. 7. Joy
    Carl Sandburg
  8. 8. Blank Joy
    Rainer Maria Rilke
  9. 9. A Daily Joy To Be Alive
    Jimmy Santiago Baca
  10. 10. Interval Of Joy
    Giorgos Seferis
  11. 11. The Death Of Joy Gardner
    Benjamin Zephaniah
  12. 12. My Dearest Frank, I Wish You Joy
    Jane Austen
  13. 13. Joy
    Ella Wheeler Wilcox
  14. 14. Surprised By Joy
    William Wordsworth
  15. 15. ....Tears Of Joy...
    Eyan Desir
  16. 16. Sadness And Joy
    William Henry Davies
  17. 17. Songs Of Joy
    William Henry Davies
  18. 18. One Hour To Madness And Joy
    Walt Whitman
  19. 19. Hymn To Joy
    Friedrich Schiller
  20. 20. Mischievous Joy
    Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
  21. 21. Morning Joy
    Claude McKay
  22. 22. Joy And Peace In Believing
    John Newton
  23. 23. Joy, Shipmate, Joy!
    Walt Whitman
  24. 24. Joy- Joy, Enjoy; Yeah,
    Aftab Alam
  25. 25. Joy
    Sara Teasdale
  26. 26. Joy-Bells
    Siegfried Sassoon
  27. 27. Stanzas For Music: There's Not A Joy The..
    George Gordon Byron
  28. 28. Hymn Of Joy
    Henry Van Dyke
  29. 29. Work And Joy
    Robert William Service
  30. 30. Joy To Have Merited The Pain
    Emily Dickinson
  31. 31. Joy And Joy
    Gajanan Mishra
  32. 32. Joy And Sorrow
    Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
  33. 33. *** And You Will Shed Tears Of Joy ***
    ANJALI SINHA
  34. 34. Sonnet Xli: Why Do I Speak Of Joy
    Michael Drayton
  35. 35. The Joy Of Travel
    Marilyn Lott
  36. 36. Joy And Sorrow
    Francis Duggan
  37. 37. Joy
    Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
  38. 38. The Joy Of Suddenly Learning
    Shalom Freedman
  39. 39. Noises Of Joy
    Lawrence S. Pertillar
  40. 40. This World's Joy
    Anonymous
  41. 41. Sonnet: What Joy!
    Dr. A.Celestine Raj Manohar ..
  42. 42. The Joy Of Their Laughter
    Francis Duggan
  43. 43. What Joy
    ANDREW BLAKEMORE
  44. 44. The Inner Joy Writing The Poetry Brings
    Shalom Freedman
  45. 45. Peacock Story 9 - Joy Of Joys
    Alison Cassidy
  46. 46. A Poem Of Joy In Old Age
    Shalom Freedman
  47. 47. Joy Of Fishing
    Marilyn Lott
  48. 48. There Is The Joy
    Peter S. Quinn
  49. 49. (728) Christmas Joy
    Melvina Germain
  50. 50. ! Joy Enjoyed With Or Without Hope...
    Michael Shepherd

Joy Poems

  1. Infant Joy

    'I have no name; I am but two days old.' What shall I call thee? 'I happy am, Joy is my name.' Sweet joy befall thee! Pretty joy! Sweet joy, but two days old. Sweet Joy I call thee: Thou dost smile, I sing the while; Sweet joy befall thee!

  2. Joy And Pleasure

    Now, joy is born of parents poor, And pleasure of our richer kind; Though pleasure's free, she cannot sing As sweet a song as joy confined. Pleasure's a Moth, that sleeps by day And dances by false glare at night; But Joy's a Butterfly, that loves To spread its wings in Nature's light. Joy's like a Bee that gently sucks Away on blossoms its sweet hour; But pleasure's like a greedy Wasp, That plums and cherries would devour. Joy's like a Lark that lives alone, Whose ties are very strong, though few; But Pleasure like a Cuckoo roams, Makes much acquaintance, no friends true. Joy from her heart doth sing at home, With little care if others hear; But pleasure then is cold and dumb, And sings and laughs with strangers near.

  3. The Joy Of Being Poor

    I Let others sing of gold and gear, the joy of being rich; But oh, the days when I was poor, a vagrant in a ditch! When every dawn was like a gem, so radiant and rare, And I had but a single coat, and not a single care; When I would feast right royally on bacon, bread and beer, And dig into a stack of hay and doze like any peer; When I would wash beside a brook my solitary shirt, And though it dried upon my back I never took a hurt; When I went romping down the road contemptuous of care, And slapped Adventure on the back -- by Gad! we were a pair; When, though my pockets lacked a coin, and though my coat was old, The largess of the stars was mine, and all the sunset gold; When time was only made for fools, and free as air was I, And hard I hit and hard I lived beneath the open sky; When all the roads were one to me, and each had its allure . . . Ye Gods! these were the happy days, the days when I was poor. II Or else, again, old pal of mine, do you recall the times You struggled with your storyettes, I wrestled with my rhymes; Oh, we were happy, were we not? -- we used to live so "high" (A little bit of broken roof between us and the sky); Upon the forge of art we toiled with hammer and with tongs; You told me all your rippling yarns, I sang to you my songs. Our hats were frayed, our jackets patched, our boots were down at heel, But oh, the happy men were we, although we lacked a meal. And if I sold a bit of rhyme, or if you placed a tale, What feasts we had of tenderloins and apple-tarts and ale! And yet how often we would dine as cheerful as you please, Beside our little friendly fire on coffee, bread and cheese. We lived upon the ragged edge, and grub was never sure, But oh, these were the happy days, the days when we were poor. III Alas! old man, we're wealthy now, it's sad beyond a doubt; We cannot dodge prosperity, success has found us out. Your eye is very dull and drear, my brow is creased with care, We realize how hard it is to be a millionaire. The burden's heavy on our backs -- you're thinking of your rents, I'm worrying if I'll invest in five or six per cents. We've limousines, and marble halls, and flunkeys by the score, We play the part . . . but say, old chap, oh, isn't it a bore? We work like slaves, we eat too much, we put on evening dress; We've everything a man can want, I think . . . but happiness. Come, let us sneak away, old chum; forget that we are rich, And earn an honest appetite, and scratch an honest itch. Let's be two jolly garreteers, up seven flights of stairs, And wear old clothes and just pretend we aren't millionaires; And wonder how we'll pay the rent, and scribble ream on ream, And sup on sausages and tea, and laugh and loaf and dream. And when we're tired of that, my friend, oh, you will come with me; And we will seek the sunlit roads that lie beside the sea. We'll know the joy the gipsy knows, the freedom nothing mars, The golden treasure-gates of dawn, the mintage of the stars. We'll smoke our pipes and watch the pot, and feed the crackling fire, And sing like two old jolly boys, and dance to heart's desire; We'll climb the hill and ford the brook and camp upon the moor . . . Old chap, let's haste, I'm mad to taste the Joy of Being Poor.

  4. Joy And Sorrow Chapter Viii

    Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow." And he answered: Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives? When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater." But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed. Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy. Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced. When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.