[BNP/E3, 49A4 – 7]
12-1-15
(early morning)
Somehow, life should be sweet and it is not…
There are too many things in life… In us
A nigh |*crud| of sentiment with thought
And proper with remembrance is {…} |rot|.
Could God but give me one clear moment’s sight
Of that turmoil of I’s[1] I have in me
And I am, but have one be ghostly glance of the right
Of my soul, when outside myself do see…
But there are wishes and life is everyday’s…
I pine for something that should be life’s meaning
Yet sense no fact in my {…} way
Something not showing and not {…} seeming…
Something that God knows of, that once tis known
Life is not strange, nor our cold soul alone.
__________
From the far battlements of my sensed-place
A hand moves to me since for[2] spiralling…
All my heart is ashes to know what soul-trace
That gesture Venus that seems a lonely wing…
_______
Lay your hand on my hand and silent be…
Life is too quick for one plan and one thought…
Like a far cloud too quite for us to see
The things done in it, it is and is not…
_______
The flowers have been gathered and our garden vent…
To-morrow alone the Oasis shall forever lay
Then shall be † for her eyes to tent
Through the wonder that on flowers are nigh
And this, perchance, shall be all that life is…
And what more God lie, God[3] is this…
[7v]
10.3
7.21
10.3
21.20
10.3
60.
13.19
83.22
10.3
60.
24.55
94.58
10.3
90
26 43
126.46
28.29
19.57
48.26
10
8
9
38.40
13.19
52.59
38.40
24.55
63.35
53
10.33
21.20
38.40
30
26.43
75.23
21.20
13.52
35.12
28.29
30.
21.20
79.49
[1] I’s /me\
[2] for /blurred\
[3] God /Love\
