1711

1710

1709

1708

1707
The concept of an hour
Unmakes and makes a time
To be, and gone,
In a seeming arc
Of identity.
But catch an instant
To its next and last,
Then unnaratived spring my motions,
And my body both thought's vessel
And manifestation.
What whole is not a part
Of some still greater art?

1706

1705

1704

1703

1702

1701

1700

1699

1698
Enwheel this moment
Of evening light
Round with memory,
To stay what must go:
Moon, sky,
And answering shadow;
Stay this season of embracing sense,
By these tokens engendered;
For I feel the millrace of hours,
That wants no perception to run its course.

1697

1696

1695

1694

1693

1692