Nature Is A Haunted House--but Art--is A

Not Knowing When The Dawn Will Come I Open Every Door.

Forever - Is Composed Of Nows - 'tis Not A Different Time... Let Months Dissolve In Further Months - And Years - Exhale In Years.

How Strange That Nature Does Not Knock, And Yet Does Not Intrude!

Sweet Skepticism Of The Heart That Knows And Does Not Know And Tosses Like A Fleet Of Balm Affronted By The Snow.

Life Is So Rotatory That The Wilderness Falls To Each, Sometime.