Almost a living soul. But every part
Was what I made it—all that I had dreamed—
No more, no less: the mirror of my heart,
Such things as boyhood feigns beneath the smart
Of solitude and spring. I was deceived
Almost. In that first moment I believed.
21
“For a big, brooding rapture, tense as fire
And calm as a first sleep had soaked me through
Without thought, without word, without desire....