1116

1115

Wonder not at an essence,

Or sift a pattern for its spring--

What is hidden's not unfound,

Hazard and habit is one thing.

The morning light has no intention,

Nor's weaving shadow art's invention.

1114

1113

1112

1111

1110

1108

As besotted with clouds

As thought wanting shape,

As one seeking consequence

In a bottle of air--

What seems found, isn't there.

The eye mismeasures to the degree

The beholder projects his quality.

1108

1107

1106

1105
Small words, and blue,
As if melancholy had haste or simplicity,
And efficient calamity 'compassed
With a semaphore of doubt--
Released-- from affection's habit,
And the time become no hour at all,
Alien to oneself.

1104

Musical insinuation

Within your private ear

Sounds emotioned purview

No other may hear.

This precarious displacement

Of internal affairs

Is an oblique rearrangement

To a scoring of cares.

That particulate free form

That echoes the primal day

Is a natural analogue

Of tuned patterns that stay.

1103

1102

1101

The discovered country's time--

That undimensioned point

Lent by memory phantom length

By supposition breadth,

In which its finders seeming flow,

Naming the motions of mind and limb hours

And stitched narratives a life,

Yet ever in one place,

From alpha to omega.

1100

1099

1098

1097