That moment the variant analysis which always rides with me stopped dead.
There came instead sheer feeling—the merciless beauty.
—a man-person, maybe—the man of happy unanalytic brutality—to be suddenly there with me: to flash into my shadowy solitude like a lightning bolt and burst and break me.
—a quarter-hour of exquisite wildness—restlessness, made of Star-flame and Lily-petal and Cloud-burst on Mountain-summits and Sea-waves purple in a Stormy Dawn—an intolerable hunger and [ecstasy]—
But just gone and I sit writing it in the pale cast of thought.
But breathlessly I recall the breathlessness of it.
[My shoes]
To-morrow
I LOVE my Shoes.