Changes, days, lives



A long road in a place I do not know;
the day is wearing, origins grow dark—
the mind keeps close the slender thoughts that grow
by some connection with the past; they mark

the impress of those unrecalling roads
which hold — determinate — the present way.
That moon so insular, beyond the modes
of my own mental moons, aloft in day,

now fathoms out the night. A line of trees,
which, never seen by me before, prosects
a vast and engrossed sun: and nightfall’s ease
weighs up, enfolds where shadowing elects

the long and loose identity; each cloud,
distinct, reveals a metamorphic name
within its shape. And so are days endowed
as if to mean: my self the same.





Changes, Days, Lives - titles and first lines



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