Even With One Companion Ecstasy Is Almost

When I Compare Myself, My Being-myself, With Anything Else Whatever, All Things Alike, All In The Same Degree, Rebuff Me With Blank Unlikeness.

But . . . I May As Well Say What I Should Not Otherwise Have Said, That I Always Knew In My Heart Walt Whitman’s Mind To Be More Like My Own Than Any Other Man’s Living. As He Is A Very Great Scoundrel This Is Not A Pleasant Confession.

I Awoke In The Midsummer Not-to-call Night, In The White And The Walk Of The Morning

O The Mind, Mind Has Mountains; Cliffs Of Fall Frightful, Sheer, No-man-fathomed. Hold Them Cheap May Who Ne'er Hung There. Nor Does Long Our Small Durance Deal With That Steep Or Deep.

Lovely The Woods, Waters, Meadows, Combes, Vales, All The Air Things Wear That Build This World Of Wales.