i would be eight people and then the difficulties vanishonly as one i contain the complicationsin a warm house roofed with the rib-cage of an elephanti pass my grey mornings re-running the reelsand the images are the same but the emphasis shiftsthe actors bow gently to me and i envy themtheir repeated parts, their constant presence in that worldi would be eight people each inhabiting the other's dreamswalking through corridors of glass framed pagestelling each other the final lines of letterspicking fruit in one dream and storing it in anotheronly as one i contain the complicationsand the images are the same, their constant presence in thatworld
they pass & i turnbut you know thisthe actrevolves around itselfmy timegoes marked by letters, someenthusiasms vanish, in arguingwith you i've used up many books butthe work is too much. i have noenergyto mould them sky darkens nowthe snow is grey sounds of cooking amovement of platesthis room is coldand i'm in trouble
The night is come, but not too soon;And sinking silently,All silently, the little moonDrops down behind the sky.There is no light in earth or heavenBut the cold light of stars;And the first watch of night is givenTo the red planet Mars.Is it the tender star of love?The star of love and dreams?O no! from that blue tent above,A hero's armor gleams.And earnest thoughts within me rise,When I behold afar,Suspended in the evening skies,
Youth of delight! come hitherAnd see the opening morn,Image of Truth new-born.Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,Dark disputes and artful teazing.Folly is an endless maze;Tangled roots perplex her ways;How many have fallen there!They stumble all night over bones of the dead;And feel--they know not what but care;And wish to lead others, when they should be led.
"Hope" is the thing with feathers --That perches in the soul --And sings the tune without the words --And never stops -- at all --And sweetest -- in the Gale -- is heard --And sore must be the storm --That could abash the little BirdThat kept so many warm --I've heard it in the chillest land --And on the strangest Sea --Yet, never, in Extremity,It asked a crumb -- of Me.