Amy Lowell sets up a contrast between what happiness means to different people. For some it is a burst of elation; for others it is nothing but stagnation—sleepy, idle hours with no delight and no distress. But the speaker wants neither empty calm nor mere excitement. She describes happiness as effervescent wine: sharp, hot, and so intoxicating that it leaves no room for thought. It is a full surrender, a kind of glorious drunkenness where even pain becomes part of the thrill. Rapture is tangled with sorrow, and the fact that life is brief makes the feeling more urgent and precious. The mood is feverish, reckless, and yearning. By the end, the speaker admits happiness is rare, something she would beg, steal, or pay for in blood just to possess.
Happiness — Summary
Happiness, to some, elation; Is, to others, mere stagnation. Days of passive somnolence, At its wildest, indolence. Hours of empty quietness, No delight, and no distress.
Happiness to me is wine, Effervescent, superfine. Full of tang and fiery pleasure, Far too hot to leave me leisure For a single thought beyond it. Drunk! Forgetful! This the bond: it Means to give one's soul to gain Life's quintessence. Even pain Pricks to livelier living, then Wakes the nerves to laugh again, Rapture's self is three parts sorrow. Although we must die to-morrow, Losing every thought but this; Torn, triumphant, drowned in bliss.
Happiness: We rarely feel it. I would buy it, beg it, steal it, Pay in coins of dripping blood For this one transcendent good.