[BNP/E3, 49A3 – 58]

23-9-14

The bitterness thou readest on my lips

That seemeth yet a doubt of bitterness

Like the faint trace Longing’s finger-tips

On the touched soul time coater[1] with Distress –

This sad expression of not saying aught

Which does perplex thee as if aught it said,

___

I bear it not as lamer of my height

Nay, nor as ship’s trail of a far-off dread.

No. I myself know not what cares I bear.

Sun that a deep, life-seated weary sense

Of life doth show me that all in me is care,

And slow of too needs a small care pretension

     |For neither doth my care bear inconnue size

     Not doth its own pretence desire its eyes…|

 
[1] time coater /Time doth-stress\