Still don’t know their names,
these two stars watching dawn with
such ambivalence.
A dream for winter—
taste of pan-fried soft-shell crabs
and blueberry pie!
What else can I say?
Even the clouds know me now,
risen and burning.
It will illustrate one phase of humanity anyhow; how few of life’s days and hours (and they not by relative value or proportion, but by chance) are ever noted. Probably another point too, how we give long preparations for some object, planning and delving and fashioning, and then, when the actual hour for doing arrives, find ourselves still quite unprepared, and tumble the thing together, letting hurry and crudeness tell the story better than fine work.
—WALT WHITMAN, Specimen Days