Imagine A Painter Crucified By His Subject!

The Poem Is Sad Because It Wants To Be Yours, And Cannot Be.

And The Way Though Discontinuous, And Intermittent, Sometimes Not Heard Of For Years At A Time, Did, Nonetheless, Move Up, Although, To His Surprise It Was Inside The House, And Always Getting Narrower.

Each Servant Stamps The Reader With A Look.

We Might Realize That The Present Moment May Be One Of An Eternal Or Sempiternal Series Of Moments, All Of Which Will Resemble It Because, In Some Ways, They Are The Present, And Won't In Other Ways, Because The Present Will Be The Past By That Time.

... The First Step Of The Terrible Journey Toward Feeling Somebody Should Act, That Ends In Utter Confusion And Hopelessness, East Of The Sun And West Of The Moon.