We should learn everything then
in this order of experience I am always still young
Innocent of future gold-fields & gorgeous plutocracy
taking up the pencil without removing the jewels
these little fountains of pure color these motes
the voluminous still-accumulating results
Leaves not falling slowly a bright shadowless stillness
not as an object to be found by search
a pretty bit of midland woods meadows pastures
hedgerows still allowed to grow coral fruit for the birds
A voice slightly moistened with tears & a face still dry
it is not an easy thing even to thread a path
still strutting & shambling along
all the world is between me & what I see
The one letter addressed to all of us still left unread
If I were obliged to speak I should say I am not fond of strangers
I want my waistcoat now I told you always to put it on the bed
I opened the door slowly with great deliberation I quietly closed it
Behind me I closed the distances
Not hearing the grass grow not hearing the squirell’s heart beat