I must go in, the fog is rising.
The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.
They address an Eclipse every morning, whom they call their "Father."
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?
Life is so rotatory that the wilderness falls to each, sometime.
Time is short and full, like an outgrown Frock - .