𝖲𝗈 𝗂𝗌 solitude, which by so wide a range

Gives me a glimpse of my inner horizons.

Here, quite ashore, staring at the endless void

And beyond the bounds of mundane fantasy,

I bare my being of the burden of conscience,

Take a wrinkle in time to get along wi' the wild,

To get alone for a while with the churlish child

As the leaves of dread and all of grief fade

With the cleansing return of innocence.

The dusk in my eyes was once a turbid river

Of sparkling dreams, in the hollow of which

Twinkl'd candor like crystal coins underwater.

I seize a pink of release

in the death of doubt;

And lo! it takes so little a thing

For my all to thaw in awe

At what gravity is ailing to tame.

I catch a sense of ease

in the depth of though;

And oh! it takes so slight a thrill

For all my sight to fall afright

At what my soul is failing to name.

Like a blooming in slow process

Thorough in the art of softly unfolding

From the drying ruins of what used to be,

I lay the wilting grace of yesterday's flowers

Down into the garden of oblivious blossoms.

And as the drifting self dwells lost

In the fizzing and marvel of hearing

The howling breeze through the foliage; I,

I compare my silence to the sigh of Nature,

To that voice, the suave tunes of which

Murmur in the mirth of memory

The remembrance of olden joys,

The obsolete seasons, the generous ones,

The careless spectre of lively youth

all clad in her garment of glaring noise.

Thus I see my thinking sink in the Immensity,

And tender is the tide in this sea of wonder!

— 𝖠𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗍𝖺,

𝑇𝒉𝑒 𝑅𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝐼𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒

𝖨𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖦𝗂𝖺𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗈 𝖫𝖾𝗈𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗂'𝗌 𝐿'𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑜

– 1819 –

Written by https://www.threads.com/@handofdust101

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