Walking alone through the landscape of memory, Dickinson suggests, is a kind of sacred drunkenness — a “divine intemperance” that anyone sensible would avoid. You can steer clear of actual liquors, but no outside law can stop your mind from serving up its own intoxicants. The speaker treats memory as a beautiful betrayal: like a sunset, it invites you to chase what’s already gone, yet you can never truly hold it. It quietly alloys our more solid moments with a fiercer gold — something precious that perfectly answers our longing, but stays just out of reach. The mood is solitary and bittersweet, a mix of wry self-awareness and quiet ache. Dickinson captures the impulse to wander back through the past, knowing full well that the indulgence will leave you poorer for the richness you almost touch.
Through those old Grounds of memory, — Summary
Through those old Grounds of memory, The sauntering alone Is a divine intemperance A prudent man would shun. Of liquors that are vended 'Tis easy to beware But statutes do not meddle With the internal bar. Pernicious as the sunset Permitting to pursue But impotent to gather, The tranquil perfidy Alloys our firmer moments With that severest gold Convenient to the longing But otherwise withheld.