But The Problem Is To Make The

On The Blue Summer Evenings, I Will Go Along The Paths, And Walk Over The Short Grass, As I Am Pricked By The Wheat: Daydreaming I Will Feel The Coolness On My Feet. I Will Let The Wind Bathe My Bare Head. I Will Not Speak, I Will Have No Thoughts: But Infinite Love Will Mount In My Soul; And I Will Go Far, Far Off, Like A Gypsy, Through The Countryside - As Happy As If I Were A Woman. "sensation

Idle Youth, Enslaved To Everything; By Being Too Sensitive I Have Wasted My Life.

Je Est Un Autre. (i Is Someone Else).

Stronger Than Alcohol, Vaster Than Poetry, Ferment The Freckled Red Bitterness Of Love!

-but I've Just Noticed That My Mind Is Asleep.