then he will maybe(hearing something fall into his hat)go wandering after it with fingers;till having found what was thrown away himself taptaptaps out of your brain, hopes, life to(carefully turning a corner)never bother you any more. XVI if within tonight’s erect everywhere of black muscles feels a weightless slowness(deftly muting the world’s texture with drifted gifts of featheriest slenderness and how gradually which descending are suddenly received)or by doomfull connivance accurately thither and hither myself struts unremembered(rememberingly with in both pockets curled hands moves) why then toward morning he is a ghost whom assault these whispering fists of hail (and a few windows awaken certain faces busily horribly blunder through new light hush we are made of the same thing as perhaps nothing, he murmurs carefully lying down) XVII how this uncouth enchanted person, arising from a restaurant, looks breathes or moves --climbing(past light after light)to turn, disappears the very swift and invisibly living rhythm of your Heart possibly will understand; or why(in this most exquisite of cities)all of the long night a fragile imitation of (perhaps)myself carefully wanders streets dark and, deep with rain. . . . (he, slightly whom or cautiously this person and this imitation resemble, descends into the earth with the year a cigarette between his ghost-lips gradually) remembering badly, softly your kissed thrice suddenly smile XVIII i go to this window just as day dissolves when it is twilight(and looking up in fear i see the new moon thinner than a hair) making me feel how myself has been coarse and dull compared with you, silently who are and cling to my mind always But now she sharpens and becomes crisper until i smile with knowing --and all about herself the sprouting largest final air plunges inward with hurled downward thousands of enormous dreams FIVE I after all white horses are in bed will you walking beside me, my very lady, if scarcely the somewhat city wiggles in considerable twilight touch (now) with a suddenly unsaid gesture lightly my eyes? And send life out of me and the night absolutely into me. . . . a wise and puerile moving of your arm will do suddenly that will do more than heroes beautifully in shrill armour colliding on huge blue horses, and the poets looked at them, and made verses, through the sharp light cryingly as the knights flew. II touching you i say (it being Spring and night) “let us go a very little beyond the last road--there’s something to be found”