Saturday, June 11, 2022

My moods are periodical.




The other day I rowed in my boat a free even lovely young lady and as I plied the oars she sat in the stern and there was nothing but she between me and the sky. June 19, 1840

What if we feel a yearning to which no breast answers?
I walk alone. My heart is full. 
Feelings impede the current of my thoughts. 
I knock on the earth but no friend appears –
perhaps none
 is dreaming of me.
June 11, 1855

Hardly two nights are alike. 
 I seem to be nearer to the origin of things.
 My spiritual side takes a more distinct form,
 like my shadow which I see accompanying me
I ask, “Who is this?”
 as I am about to
 sit down on a rock. 

No one,
 to my knowledge,
 has observed the minute differences in the seasons.
 A book of the seasons, 
each page of which should be written
 in its own season and out-of-doors, 
or in its own locality 
wherever it may be. 
June 11, 1851


I think of you as an angel there.
I love you like I love the stars,
I want to give you every one.
Zphx 20220611
See 18510611, 18571026

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