As this is my last night in "freedom", before going into the hard life of the working man, I choose to devote this night and this day's post to Walt. The poet who gave us the song of himself and the song of America. But I will also devote a thought to Hopper, who's nightly image of the hawks is a favourite of mine. Have a very good night and a couple of sweet dreams to go.
I WANDER all night in my vision,
| Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noise- lessly stepping and stopping, |
| Bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers, |
| Wandering and confused, lost to myself, ill- assorted, contradictory, |
| Pausing, gazing, bending, stopping. |
| How solemn they look there, stretched and still! |
| How quiet they breathe, the little children in their cradles! |
| The wretched features of ennuyees, the white features of corpses, the livid faces of drunk- ards, the sick-gray faces of onanists, |
| The gashed bodies on battle-fields, the insane in their strong-doored rooms, the sacred idiots, |
| The new-born emerging from gates, and the dying emerging from gates, |
WW
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