[BNP/E3, 49A4 – 60]

1-9-1915

The breeze is sweet upon my hour.

A fever lines my consciousness

With coloured dashes that allow

No freshness in my dim distress.

The flowers in my garden are

Coloured so deep that all seem red

Thou many other coloured

___

The sunflower flowers so that it seems to hir.

Carnations scream such colours at my sight

That I quail at seeing them, and believe

Noting but terror of delight…

Then a great black vertical night

Cuts down into the dreams I am.

Great shrieks of colour and fun eat into me.

A great joy comes

And strikes a terror in my misery.

The sound of dances

As when a conquered people bears then rear

Rattles out loud in my feverish ear.

Now should cool breeze from my heart

And cool hands hold my hands nor let

My eyes wander to that fun part

Of life when all seems like regret.

Now should your wounds a love and tender,

Your smiles so soft and {…} thought thy engender 

[60v]

A hope, a rest, a home, a peace

An ultimate and dim release

From sense, pain and life and hours…

And that strong garden and its flower