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wears the quiet of fr shapes from which life has gone, into
which eternity has breathed; like the sands when
an empty shell, sand untrodden sand, p  horizons pools
something seen surprised from a train window – a pool, a chu[?] wood –
which is scarcely robbed of its solitude; so soon will it
sink ag sink into peace again.     It Even the prying
of the wind, the soft jaws of the clammy sea air, fluffing, nosing
do nothing to disturb this solitary solitude, this beauty, this
integrity, for where noth there is nothing to excite, &
no collusion, & no compromise, it seems as if
truth were there, at last, robed in its own

 


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