“That we should dwell in sorrow and unrest?
“That no man should heed our voice, and that we should grow weak and faint?
“That we should die, and be forgotten—thou and I?
“Oh, tell us wherefore—ye wise men.”
June 9th.
I have walked another day. I am beginning to get away from the suburban towns, and into the real country. I knew that it would cost me a good deal to go to a hotel last night, and it was warm, so I slept in a hay-stack! It was quite an adventure. Now I've got my pockets stuffed full of rolls, Benjamin Franklin style.
—My mind is like the ocean after a storm.
The great waves come rolling over it still; it is all restless, tossing. But it is sinking, sinking to rest!—Heaven grant that I may find my place of refuge before it is quite calm.
It is everything or nothing with me; I am made that way. Either I give every instant of my time, every thought, every effort to my work, or else I close up like a flower and wait. I can not write poetry and hunt a lodging too.