I would bathe myself in strangeness:
These comforts heaped upon me, smother me!
I burn,
I scald so for the new,
New friends, new faces,
Places!
Oh to be out of this,
This that is all I wanted- save the new.
And you,
Love, you the much, the more desired!
Do I not loathe all walls, streets, stones,
All mire, mist, all fog,
All ways of traffic?
You,
I wold have flow over me like water,
Oh, but far out of this!
Grass, and low fields, and hills,
And sun,
Oh, sun enough!
Out, and alone, among
Alien people!
