[BNP/E3, 49A3 – 50]

And from our love, sail of thought of wing on the wing,

     God, that impossible |lover|, will spring.

_______

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The curtain of my dreaming impossible loves have fallen

     Across my visions of your eyes made other in me, The Hour

Slants like the idea of space where our dreams are Helen

Of a trap-thought burning into a dream of a free flower.

[50v]

But that its branches were the sound…

The various colours of the face are a breath God

I bite the peach and it taste of my having seen

Over a † sea –

The deck is giving in my idea of the peach, and the †

Of the † crosses my logic of the bitten peach like a tree