The Poet Makes Himself A

Je Est Un Autre. (i Is Someone Else).

It Is Wrong To Say: I Think. One Ought To Say: I Am Thought. I Is Someone Else.

But, Truly, I Have Wept Too Much! The Dawns Are Heartbreaking. Every Moon Is Atrocious And Every Sun Bitter.

A Thousand Dreams Within Me Softly Burn

I Found I Could Extinguish All Human Hope From My Soul.