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