Is this a misplaced excitement -
that gnaws at the pit,
and grows ever steady
with every touch of the pen
and every word which is read.
My eye takes in what is not before me,
but what is further than the horizon.
It is not a concrete picture,
but a floating translucency!
Again, I must ask, have I been misplaced?
In the scheme of the world,
I should not think of such frivolous things,
and yet, this palpitation does not cease.