Up goes the rocket. Its golden grain falls, fertilising, upon the rich soil of my imagination.

“The streets seemed to chafe the very air...and lift its leaves hotly, brilliant…”

“I to my friends, to my own heart, I to seek among phrases and fragments somethi…”

“Are we so made that we have to take death in small doses daily or we could not …”

“Look, the unseen bade him, the voice which now communicated with him who was th…”