I was the world in which I walked.

A poem need not have a meaning and like most things in nature often does not have.

The reader became the book; and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book.

I am what is around me.

Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates. It is of the nature of that in which it is found, whether the poem, the manner of a god, the bearing of a man. It is not a dress.

Reality is not what it is. It consists of the many realities which it can be made into.

Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.