Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.
I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next Would be my final inch,— This gave me that precarious gait Some call experience.
I must go in, the fog is rising.
Time is short and full, like an outgrown Frock - .
Love is everything. And that's all we know about it.
Nature is a haunted house--but Art--is a house that tries to be haunted.