Thought Is A Man In His Wholeness,

I Never Saw A Wild Thing Sorry For Itself. A Small Bird Will Drop Frozen Dead From A Bough Without Ever Having Felt Sorry For Itself.

It Was Not The Passion That Was New To Her, It Was The Yearning Adoration. She Knew She Had Always Feared It, For It Left Her Helpless; She Feared It Still, Lest If Se Adored Him Too Much, Then She Would Lose Herself, Become Effaced, And She Did Not Want To Be Effaced, A Slave, Like A Savage Woman. She Must Not Become A Slave. She Feared Her Adoration, Yet She Would Not At Once Fight Against It.

And To My Lips' Bright Crimson Rim The Passion Slips, And Down My Slim White Body Drips The Shining Hymn.

I Am Turned Into A Dream. I Feel Nothing, Or I Don't Know What I Feel. Yet It Seems To Me I Am Happy.

I Got The Blues Thinking Of The Future, So I Left Off And Made Some Marmalade. It's Amazing How It Cheers One Up To Shred Orange And Scrub The Floor.