Often where it was and

was not well, delightful

and not delightful, in those

places sometimes a world,

as often, chaos of crossed

trials, no right not wrong,

no wrong but right – have

you not halted, as between

two moments, and there

been mindful, as a man dying

and yet living, of a standstill

swiftness – that nothing was

not nothing? To see, and yet

it was not common sight, nor

blindness? A scarcest sight,

yet, as a painted picture, more

visible than naked spectacle?

Such are these furnishings

sifted from gross variety,

time’s stinking wealth – the

perishable marvels which

bedeck the dream-bazaars

of fain exaggeration. Yet still,

all outcomes ineluctable; denial,

your only faithful entitlement.