martes, 22 de julio de 2008

but a batch of convulsiveley written reminiscences

I wander all night in my vision,
Stepping with light feet....swiftly and noiselessly
stepping and stopping,
Bending with open eyes over the shut of sleepers;
wandering and confused...lost to myself...illasorated...contradictory,
pausing and gazing and bending and stopping.
How solemn they look there, stretched and still;
how quiet they breathe...
...But I too announce solid things
...Then my realities; what else is so real as mine?
W.W. 1855

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