Tell Me About Despair, Yours, And I

The Sea Isn't A Place But A Fact, And A Mystery.

Said The River: Imagine Everything You Can Imagine, Then Keep On Going.

The Language Of The Poem Is The Language Of Particulars.

Why Should I Not Sit, Every Morning Of My Life, On The Hillside, Looking Into The Shining World?

What Misery To Be Afraid Of Death. What Wretchedness, To Believe Only In What Can Be Proven.