To shut your eyes is to travel.
How softly summer shuts, without the creaking of a door.
This is the Hour of Lead- Remembered, if outlived, As freezing persons, recollect the Snow- First-Chill-then Stupor- then the letting go---
We meet no Stranger, but Ourself.
My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun - In Corners - till a Day The Owner passed - identified - And carried Me away -
Action is redemption.