A Little Madness In The Spring Is

The Truth Must Dazzle Gradually Or Every Man Be Blind.

I Must Go In, The Fog Is Rising.

Two Seasons, It Is Said, Exist- The Summer Of The Just, And This Of Ours, Diversified With Prospect, And With Frost- May Not Our Second With Its First So Infinite Compare That We But Recollect The One The Other To Prefer?

There Is A Solitude Of Space. A Solitude Of Sea. A Solitude Of Death, But These Societies Shall Be Compared With That Profounder Site-that Polar Privacy. A Soul Admitted To Itself--finite Infinity.

I Dwell In Possiblities.