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