I might not be addressing what is being asked, but Emily Dickinson will do anything to acquire the sympathy of the audience in her head and the toad is the lowest thing she could think of to compare herself to. At the same time, she defends her miserable state by declaring that she is just like anything else in this world. She also turns on those who she feels are without pain and who don't understand her self-centered misery by calling them braggarts. I can't stand reading Dickinson because it is too close a reflection of that pathetic part of me that is always present.