“I can go to the very end of it!
“And I don't care who hears me!
“I am free!”
June 23d.
I ate a raw egg this morning. For yesterday I let the fire go out five times, and gave up my breakfast rather than start a sixth.
I wanted to save time—I thought it would be egg just the same; but I record it for future generations of poets, that the experiment is not a success. You taste raw egg all day.
I shall have them all hard-boiled in the farmhouse after this.
—Twenty-eight lines to-day! I had more, but I lost them, and then I fell down.
—There is always a new height, but there are not always new words. My verse grows more and more incoherent, and more and more daring. I can feel the difference of a whole lifetime between it now, and what I wrote ten weeks ago.